


Sunn

by acaciapines



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Gods and Goddesses, made up religion, myths and folklore but before they become that, sentient forests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 21:05:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14221791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaciapines/pseuds/acaciapines
Summary: They're the once-god of sun and freedom and all things heat, and they're a traitor to the other gods. But then they wake up trapped in the body of a fire-creature, and maybe this much fire shouldn't feel so right, but whatever. They're a god. They just need to get to the heart, and get to their sister, and then everything will be forgiven and they can take back their rightful place in the tapestry of gods.





	Sunn

Everything is burning and  _hot hot hot,_ and they are the once-god of sun and freedom and all things heat, so  _they should be able to deal with this,_ but living in root and shadow has made them brittle and cold. There are howls and cries from those around them, but in the blinding light they can’t make out subject from invader. They lash out with power, and the shadows grow dark and burst into flames, but the flames are ripped from their control by another being, and  _that should not be possible._

They alone are the once-god of fire (of evil, of wrongness, of traitors), and the others wouldn’t replace them. Godhood isn’t a gift, or a prize, but something inside, that spins and flares for them, but is different for others. Godhood is a fire in their soul and the thrum of power beside it. Godhood is the burning sun they have for a heart, and the way it howls with anger.

In front of them, a fire-creature with antlers that twist and glow lets out a harsh snort and charges one of their shadow subjects. The shadow shrieks and squeals and bursts into black when it is impaled by antlers wreathed in blue flame. The fire-creature laughs, and the sound is of spirit and belief, before rearing up and charging back into the fray.

The ground above them is caving, the roots cracking and splitting as fire eats them away. The once-god hears the cries of their subjects, loud and keening, and adds ‘once-ruler’ to the list of things they’ve been.

On paws of mud and sticks, they run for an exit, for a way out of the mountain of dirt they call the Underground. Their clay body sinks in the earth, like the land is refusing to let them go, but they push through the feeling. They are a once-god, but they have power that wasn’t godly to begin with, power they gained from shadows and soil. In the corner of their eye, they catch sight of a fire-creature, so they turn the shadows to flame and bolt for the exit.

The fire-creature leaps through the fire like it is an illusion. It lands before them, with fur stained brown with dirt, and eyes that burn courage.

The once-god growls, low and rumbling. Behind them, the roots finally break, and the dirt gives, letting in sunlight from above. They snarl at the light and flinch back towards the familiar of dark and shadow.

The cries of snuffed-out souls hit their ears, but they ignore it. Their world is the fire-creature before them and the exit it is blocking, their way out.

“Move,” they say, and they put every scrap of power into the word. The air hums heat and fire but the creature ignores it. It cuts through the word like a limp mouse, and lets out a harsh growl.

“Hmm, I think I’m good here,” the fire-creature says, the golden necklace dangling around its neck glittering like the sun peeking over a mountain, “You know, it took us forever to finally find you shadow-things, but I’m glad we did. It’ll be very satisfying to watch you melt before me.”

They don’t grace the creature with an answer, only snap at the air and crouch down, bracing to attack. The fire-creature snorts.  

“So that’s how you want to do it?” they ask, and mimic their pose, “That’s fine. You killed my packmates, we killed yours, and now it comes down to you and me.”

They leap and crash into the fire-creature, sending it smashing into the dirt. While they dig teeth into flesh, tender and real, the fire-creature laughs and laughs and laughs. They aren’t sure what’s funny, so they keep biting.

They bite, and bite, and taste blood and soul, until they aren’t biting anymore and can taste only metal. They feel the earth on their back, and see the sun in the sky above them, a watching eye.

The fire-creature is already standing, ignoring the bloodied rip on its shoulder. It faces the once-god, and grins the savage grin of fire-creatures.

“Poor shadow-ruler,” it says with a mocking voice. Fire dances around their head, and they can’t make their eyes see straight. They can’t feel their power, just a dull thud when they try to reach for it, and there is no longer a beating to their heart.

The fire-creature lunges for their neck, and the last things they see are the burning eyes of their killer, the twinkling sunlight above, and the dirt that buried the kingdom they once ruled.

They crumble to ash and soot under its jaws, and the last slivers of their power escape into the world.

Everything is black.

* * *

_Moon is watching them. Her form glows curiosity and confusion; the stars of her eyes speak wonder and freedom._

_“Where is your flame?” the goddess says with a voice like the distant moon. Their heart twitches, and they step away from their sister._

_“Flame?” they ask, voice wary, “There is no flame. We made sure of that.”_

_Moon laughs the laugh of a star-goddess, and disappears as the last of the sun’s rays wrap around the world. They stay, and watch, and something heavier than usual twists inside them._

_It feels like something wrong._

* * *

They open their eyes to dying leaves and running water. The branches of a tree dangle in front of them, the longer ones trailing into the river. The river reflects the golden glow of the sun. They push themselves to their paws, and their paws are soft and fuzzy. Their entire body is soft and warm and covered in thick fur. They look at a paw, and it is once-white, stained brown with mud. There is a weight around their neck, and they catch glimpses of golden in their corners of their vision.

They feel solid, and they’ve never felt solid before. They were a god, then a ruler, now neither. But never were they solid. They were power and form and the flickering of a soul, but now their soul is inside a body, and their power is a thrumming beat beside their heart of blood.

_So,_ says a voice that comes from everywhere, echoing in their head,  _t_ _here’s two of us now. I’d rather like it if you let my move my paws._

“Two?” they ask, and their tongue feels heavy in their mouth as they speak, so unlike the mirage they’re used to, “Who are you, and why are you in my head?”

_It’s my head, actually,_ the voice says,  _and my body. I want it back, thank you._

They blink eyes set into their skull, feel dirt caked under their claws, and everything feels more real than it did underground. They can feel the pressure of the air around them, choking and wet. They can feel the earth below them, firm dirt and damp leaves, not sure where one starts and the other begins.

They don’t know what they are, but they do know they are no god.

_Yeah, yeah, you’re going through some things, so I’ll ask nicely once more: give me my body back._

“Shut up!” they snap, and bare their new teeth at the river. The voice in their head laughs.

_You really aren’t mortal,_ the voice says, amused,  _great. Now, I have to deal with this. Could my day get any worse?_

“I said shut up,” they say, voice low. They growl, and it rumbles in the back of their throat. “I don’t know who you are, or why I’m stuck in this form of flesh and blood, but I’m going to fix me. I’m…” They trail off. What are they going to do? Their soul is stuck in this form, stuck in a body made by the forest, and there’s nothing they can do to escape. The whole point of a mortal body is to trap the soul until the body dies, and rots, and the soul can try to escape into the stars.  

_That’s gross,_ says the voice in their head,  _can your inner thoughts stop being about how my body will rot, and instead be about how we’re going to fix this? I’m not any happier than you are about this situation. Now I’m stuck in this blasted forest, and who knows what my pack thinks happened to me._

“Pack?” they ask, sitting down. They scrape a claw in the dirt, and catch sight of two golden bracelets, one on each front paw. They glow golden in the dying light of the sun, just like the necklace.

_Yeah. My pack. We’re the ones who’ve been trying to keep the forest out of our grasslands, and keep the shadows out of the forest. We’re kinda…_ the voice falls quiet, as if thinking, before continuing,  _we’re like protectors. Gods, maybe. Nobody knows much about us, or how we survive in the lawless land of fire-cycles, but we keep them safe. We’d like to eventually burn the forest to ash, but that hasn’t worked so far. Either we need more, or the fire isn’t strong enough…_

“Gods,” they say with a scoff, “You’re no god. I’d know.” And then, they think back to what the voice in their head had said, and ask, “Grasslands?”

_Non-forest,_ the voice clarifies,  _long ago, there was only forest, but there was a huge fire that burnt away a large section of it. The forest never grew back, and now it’s the grasslands. That’s where my pack is. That’s why we have to stop the forest, and keep the shadows out of it. The forest wants to reclaim our land, and with shadow-creatures helping, it probably would have the power to do so._

“Grasslands,” they say, and the word tastes strange in their mouth. It’s the taste of a word that shouldn’t exist, but something about the way it sounds makes their soul flare up in pride. “The forest, it tries to reclaim the land? But why?”

_The forest really hates us, buddy,_ the voice says,  _dunno why. The current theory in my pack is there’s some sort of powerful forest-creature we angered, but none of us want to go in and see if it’s true._

Powerful forest-creatures…they leap up as the idea hits them. Their tail is wagging, and they should find the sensation weird, a motion happening they never commanded to happen, but they don’t care. Right now, they’re happy.

_What is it?_ The voice sounds confused, but not mad.

“The forest-god!” they say, and their voice goes high and happy, “You’re right about one thing, and that thing is that there is a powerful forest-creature. They’re in the center of the forest. We just have to get there, and once we do, I can ask to speak with the goddess of moon and stars, and she’ll give me my godhood back!”

_Godhood?_ The voice asks, but they ignore it. They focus on their legs, and begin to trot. Trotting feels wrong, but then again, when they push themselves to run, so does that. One of their legs burns every time they take a step, but they don’t care. They have to run. They have to find the forest-god. They have to talk to…

_So, do you have a name, or should I keep calling you, ‘the stranger who stole my body?’_ the voice asks,  _I’m Áine, not that you care. Just thought you should call me something that isn’t ‘voice in my head.’_

Names, names…they think for a second. They had a name, but now they are a once-god and trapped in a body of the earth. Can they still claim the name as their own?

“Sun,” they say, because they might be a once-god, but soon they will just be a god. Soon, they will return to power and soul, and leave the weird creature known as Áine behind.

_Sun,_ Áine says,  _Interesting name, I guess. What were you, anyway? A dog? I guess Sun could be a dog’s name. Maybe some other type of small animal, like a fox? Hmm, or a bear? I’ve met a bear before. Oh! A lion! That’s my guess, you were a lion, right? Their manes look like the sun. I can see one being named Sun._

They ignore her. The pain in their leg is growing stronger, like fire burning from within. They stumble, once, and almost fall into a rock. The forest passes by in dizzying blurs, and their chest aches with every step they take. At one point, they’re pretty sure they forget to breathe.

_You really should stop, Sun,_ Áine says, and if she had a body, they’re pretty sure she would be frowning,  _I’m still messed up from the fight in that huge anthill with the shadows, and I haven’t eaten anything since that gross mouse Star-spot burnt. Man, I miss Star-spot. I hope she’s still alive._

They want to answer her. They really do. They want to say that it’s fine, they’re a once-god, things like eating and injuries don’t apply to them, but before they can open their mouth, they trip over a root, land sprawling on the ground, and the fire in their leg continues to burn. Áine screams in their head, they feel a shriek of pain escape their lips, and their vision goes black.

_I’m not about to die because some idiot—_ Áine’s voice is cut off, and they don’t know what to do. Their leg throbs, their heart is fluttering, and they still can’t see much.

They ebb in and out of hearing and not hearing. It’s a weird place to be in. Before, they were either there or not there, but now, they are somewhere in-between.

They hear a voice, one they’ve never heard before, and see a blurry, fuzzy shape, before it bends down towards them, and all they can manage to think is, ‘not again,’ before the world goes black.

* * *

_Heart and fire are the same thing, they think. Both are things you’re born with; a soul of fire means a body of heart, and vice-versa. Fire is something to be feared, to be hated. Fire is the only thing that can kill a forest, and all those who wield it possess unbreakable conviction. Fire makes them dangerous, heart makes them unyielding_

_So why can they feel the flicker of flame in their soul?_

_They were born warmth and sun. They were born to bring light and life to the world, to be the one that kept the forest growing and alive. They were born to be a protector, not a destroyer._

_“You seem to have something on your mind.”_

_They turn to see Moon, the moon rising as the sun sinks, and feel something like envy. Moon never has to deal with fire. She’s a star-goddess, a creature of wonder and mystery. She never has to fear herself._

_“Well? Or are you not going to tell me, like you always do?” Moon asks, tilting a head of stars. They sigh._

_“Who created fire?” they ask, and hope the sun will stay up just long enough for them to get an answer._

_“Fire?” Moon says, and her form flickers. “Well…it wasn’t created by anyone. When the first gods came into being, the world was nothing but fire and ash. There were no plants, no forest, and the only creatures were monsters, with wings that burned and bodies of scale. When the gods brought forest into being, those creatures died out, and the lawless land of fire was made into one of lush forest.”_

_“But there are still those who control fire,” they say, and are hit with flashes of…memory? The past? The future? All they see is a wooden heart crushed underneath a burning paw, a bone carved with the symbol ‘freedom’, and then they can see Moon again. They yelp and the not-fire inside them burns. “Their descendants roam the land, and fuel the flame and heart, and one day, the world will end to a burning heart and I will be there to start the fire.”_

_“You aren’t staring any fires,” Moon says, and the conviction in her voice is so strong they can feel it thrumming. “The forest snuffs out fire before it can become an issue. You are freedom and sunlight. You are the giver of life. There is no fire inside you. There is warmth and light, yes, but that is not the same as fire. Fire is reckless and soulless and all-devouring, while sunlight is gentle and caring.”_

_“I guess,” they say, and pretend the warmth in their soul is just that—light. As the sun sets below the horizon, and Moon rises with the pale glow of the moon, they think about fire and heart._

_One cannot exist without the other. There’s no fire in the world, and fire-creatures are killed the second they’re brought into existence. So that must mean there is no heart. No creature that can defend against the will of the gods._

_Does this thought bring them comfort or misery? Is knowing none can challenge their judgement a welcome thought, or a terrible one?_

_They fall into something similar to sleep as the sun disappears from the sky, and don’t think about anything until morning comes._

* * *

The world is fuzz, a mix of colors and sounds. Filling the majority of their vision is a creature about their size, covered in thick gray and white fur.

_Ugh, Sun, what did you do to me?_ Áine asks. She sounds groggy and disjointed, as though she is still pulling the whole of herself together.

“Oh, thank the river-goddess you’re awake!” the thick-furred creature says, “I found you half-dead, so I’ve been waiting for you to wake up. Do you need help getting home? I don’t mind escorting you to your family, or pack, or wherever you happen to live.”

“Áine?” they ask, confused. The thick-furred creature frowns.

“No, I’m Juniper. Is Áine someone you know?”

_Maybe don’t mention the fact that you stole my body. I feel that would end badly._

They agree with Áine. “No, it’s…” they shake their head to clear the fuzz from their vision, and push themselves to their paws. Their chest stings with every breath, and their stomach growls and twists inside them.

“It’s what?” Juniper asks, “Like I said, I can help you get home. Where do you live?”

_Say we’re wanderers,_ Áine says,  _maybe she knows a place for us to eat and rest, before you go to find the forest-god._

“We’re…” they shake their head and cough, and their mouth feels dry. “I don’t have a home. I’m a wanderer. Do you know…” they trail off, and hope Juniper understands, or that Áine will fill the rest in.

_You are incredibly bad at this,_ Áine says, sounding annoyed.

“Oh,” Juniper says, “Did something bad happen to your family?”

They think back to Moon and the rest of the gods. They considered—consider—Moon family, and have no idea if she is okay. “Yes,” they say, returning their attention to Juniper, “They kicked me out. We…I need somewhere to stay.”

“You keep saying we,” Juniper says with a tilt of her head, “Did you have someone else with you? If so, I’m sorry to say you’re the only creature I found around here. Your companion either left you or is still lost.”

“They’re dead,” they say. Áine is basically dead. She’s not getting her body back, and once they get to the forest-god, who knows if Áine will live or die. They don’t particularly care. Áine is useful for knowledge about forest-creatures, and they’re glad to have her for that, but once they get godhood and Moon back, they won’t need her.

_The fact that I have to hear everything you say isn’t helping right now,_ Áine mutters. They ignore her.

“Oh!” Juniper says, blinking, “I’m really sorry; I wouldn’t’ve brought it up if I knew! I’ve also lost family to the leaf-rot, so I know how horrible it is.”

“Leaf…rot?” they ask. Áine and Juniper answer at the same time.

_Without fire, death builds up on the forest floor, and corrupts those within. It’s why me and my pack live on the grasslands—there, the fire comes every burning-season, and lets up begin anew. It’s that constant cycle of change that makes us different from forest-creatures, makes us something wilder and fiercer._

“Oh, you don’t know about leaf-rot? It’s what we’re standing on—dead leaves. They never really go away, and it’s used a communication between creatures made by the forest. I’ve never seen any, but Golden Sky says they’re mostly made of rot, and the only way to kill them is with fire. He says his sister was taken by one. Luckily, we don’t live close enough to the heart for them to be a problem.”

“O…kay,” they say, reeling from the two different voices talking at the same time. They speak over each other and make understanding hard. “Uh, anyway, do you have a place we—I could stay?”

“Hmmm? Oh, yeah! I live at a rest stop! Travelers come through all the time, so there’ll be room for you! Ours is beside a river—Split River, maybe you’ve heard of it? Marsh is our leader, she’s a fox, and she’s super cool! She’ll be fine with you staying as long as you need!”

_Rest stops, huh? That’s something new. Ask what those are, will you?_ Áine asks. They nod and open their jaws to speak.

“Rest stops? What are those?” they ask, and the words taste…not off, but not right, either. Speaking is getting more comfortable, as is their breathing, but it’s not something they like, and the fact that they are speaking words made by mortals, not gods, is unpleasant at best and painful at worst.  

“Just what it sounds like: a place for creatures to rest. There’s a small pack who lives there, while the rest of the creatures are travelers stopping by for a day or two. There’s prey, and water, and shelter, so it’s a good place to go if you’re injured. Split River Pack is Marsh, me, Golden Sky, Hawk the cat, Hawk the hawk, Lusa and her three cubs, and Nora.”

_I wonder what animals they all are,_ Áine wonders,  _I’m guessing…Golden Sky is part-griffin, part…maybe horse? Griffins and horses both have the two-part naming structure, but griffin names sound more like one word, while horse names are two. Golden Sky is too pretty for a griffin name, actually. I’m going with horse. Full horse._

“Shut up, Áine,” they mutter, glaring at their paws since Áine is just a voice in their head. Áine huffs but falls quiet. They then look Juniper in the eyes, and say, “I’d like it if you took me to…Split River?”

“Oh, no problem!” she says with a grin, “It’s not too far, only about a day’s walk. Follow me!”

Juniper trots off, and they hurry after her. In the forest, everything looks the same, and everything is constantly trying to crush them. Underground, the air was heavy, yes, but familiar and welcoming. Here, the air is heavy without the welcoming, like it’s trying to scare them out. Like it knows they don't belong.

_What are we going to do after we get to Split River?_ Áine asks.

“Find someone to take me to the forest-god,” they whisper, small smile growing on their jaws. Áine sighs, but they don’t care. They’re one step closer to home, one step closer to Moon, and that’s all that matters.

* * *

_They wake up, and they are small—a speck beside something thousands of times larger. There is another, too, flickering and thinking beside them. The other is equally as small. Equally as powerless._

_“Sun and Moon,” something powerful and booming says. They look up—Sun is a word they know to mean themselves, and Moon the other beside them. “The sun and clouds; the moon and stars. Together, you two will bring life to the forest. Sun with their glowing sun that breathes life into souls, and Moon with her pale moon, and the secrets of stars.”_

_They blink, and feel something warm inside of them. Their soul is twitching, glowing bright before dimming. It’s like breathing._

_“So…what do we do?” Moon asks from beside them. Her tiny form shakes as she asks it, voice quiet. The powerful presence laughs, and it sounds like the world splitting into two, earthquakes shaking the sky into pieces._

_“You cycle,” the powerful one says, “Sun when the sun is up, you when the moon is up. There will also be times where you both are up, and those are the times the gods will be able to slip into the world below.”_

_“What about when we’re not up?” they ask. Their voice comes from the soul, and their soul flashes with the thoughts. If they had a stronger form, they would take their soul in their paws, and let it sit there, giving warmth and light._

_“You sleep,” says the powerful one, “You sleep to regain power, because while you bring the sun and moon, you also have the power to let other souls cycle like you two do. For example.”_

_They see something weak and dim before them. They reach out to touch it, and it shrinks away, glowing green-fear._

_“That is a soul,” the powerful one says, “If one of you grabs the soul and put a bit of your power into it, instead of fading away, the soul will return to earth to start life again, and keep doing that forever. Just like the sun and moon cycle, we want souls to do that.”_

_Under the watchful presence of the powerful one, they reach out again, this time managing to grab the soul. They can feel it’s power fading, can feel the memories of who it was slipping away, dissipating into nothingness. If they don’t do anything, the soul will disappear._

_They find the power in their own soul, replicate a tiny piece of it, and put it in the soul they are holding._

_“Good,” says the powerful one, as the three of them watch the soul regain its light. It starts to fall, out of the sky and back to the ground. “Now, that soul will start what we gods are calling Eternity. Whenever a creature dies, the soul will leave the body. Whenever a creature is born, the soul will enter the body. This way, the world will keep itself in balance. That will be your main task—catching souls and sending them back to the ground.”_

_With those words, the powerful one leaves. It’s just them and Moon, and it stays that way for many, many cycles._

* * *

They make it to Split River when the sun has sunk below the horizon and the moon’s blinding light trickles through the thick canopy of leaves. Juniper hasn’t stopped chattering away the whole time, but they tuned her out long ago, and her voice is nothing but a buzz in their ears.

“Alright! We made it!” Juniper says, interrupting herself and letting out a happy bark, “Camp is at the base of the huge maple tree!”

They nod and stumble after her, eager to lay down and not move for eons. As a god, they didn’t have the limitations of mortals, and as a ruler, they had power from their subjects to keep them going, but now they have nothing but blood and bone to keep them standing.

Juniper stops in front of them, and they stop to look up at what she is looking at.

The tree is huge, towering over the other trees. It is made of smooth bark and thick branches that twine around each other and reach for the sky, with leaves that glow the red-orange-yellow of the sun ( _of fire_ , something whispers, and they bury the thought). The base of the tree is a mess of roots, shadowy spaces that are crawling with creatures of all kinds.

_That’s a lion!_ Áine whispers, words dripping with awe, _Look at him! It’s like he has the sun caught in his mane! You have to talk to him, Sun, I didn’t even know they lived in forests! And look! All those griffins in the tree…it must be an entire flock of them!_

“This is Split River Camp!” Jupiter says from beside them, and Áine’s rambling about the creatures at the tree fades into background noise, “It’s always full of travelers, but don’t worry, we have more dens than we know what to do with. We always have space.”

“Dens?” they ask. Juniper’s ears perk up.

“Yup! See how the roots are all exposed, with thousands of little caves hidden in them? That’s where the dens are. I’m not sure how many creatures can fit, but we’ve never not had room for anyone. Marsh thinks the tree makes more dens as needed, and I agree with her.”

“You think the tree is a god?” they ask, narrowing their eyes at the tree. Is this the forest god, with blood of leaves and sap, and roots that burrow deep into the soil?

“No,” Juniper says, shaking her head, “Our patron is the river-goddess, not the tree. The tree gets its power from the river-goddess.” Juniper raises a paw and points at the river, which, as the name suggests, starts as one, but splits off into two separate paths, like veins running through the forest.

“River-goddess?” they ask, “I didn’t know there was a river-goddess.”

“Well, why else do you think all rivers lead to the heart?” Juniper asks, “The river-goddess is said to be a barrier between heart and the rest of the forest, to protect everyone from the forest-god. If you follow the river long enough, you make it to the heart, but the river-goddess often sends help along the way. She can’t change your mind, but she can make your fight a bit less in the forest-god’s favor, you know?”

_She talks about the forest-god like it’s a real thing,_ Áine says,  _Wow. I can’t believe Icicle was right. She’s gonna be so proud when I see her again._

“Icicle? Real?” they asked, shaking their head, “Ugh, there’s so many…words. And they don’t taste right.” They turn to Juniper, who is watching them with concern written on her face, “Can we go to the dens now? I want to rest…or something. I don’t want to be standing up.”

“Sure,” Juniper says, “Whatever you need. Wait here, and I’ll go find Nora. She’ll show you to a den.”

“Thanks,” they mutter as Juniper bounds off, disappearing into one of the lager root-caves. The air is cold on their fur, their legs burn and ache, and they just want to go to a time before all this. They want to go back to being a ruler, to being a god, to dealing with creatures like them, who think like them and believe like them.

_Sun?_ Áine asks, and even she sounds concerned,  _Are you okay? What was all that about words tasting wrong?_

“They just…hurt,” they say, sitting down and wrapping their russet-and-white tail around their paws. Their golden bracelets catch the moonlight and glow a pale white.

_Hurt how?_ Áine asks,  _You said the same thing about ‘grasslands’ and ‘rest stops,’ earlier, and I don’t even know what words tasted wrong when you were talking about the forest-god._

“They feel heavy and wrong in my mouth, and when I speak them, it’s like I’m breaking a rule I didn’t know existed. They feel like fire burning and claws tearing and being forgotten. Gods aren’t meant to speak words not created by them. Words not created by gods shouldn’t exist, but…” they trail off and scuff at the dirt with a paw, “They do. And that shouldn’t happen.”

_Look,_ Áine says, and they can almost see the frown in her voice,  _I’m pretty sure you’re not mortal. I’m pretty sure you’re something old and powerful and godly, and I’m none of that. But the thing is, words change. Grasslands? Rest stops? Those are words that have a meaning. Those are words that show change, that show we care about each other. Without them, the world would be forest and rot._

“But that’s how it should be!” they say, and they feel their power—something soft and spinning—humming beside their heart, “The gods are all-powerful! I’m all-powerful! You mortals shouldn’t be able to change destiny, to change the way the world works, but you do, and that’s not…” Their throat feels heavy, like there’s something sharp stuck inside, and they swallow back the words they want to say. “The gods set rules. They shouldn’t be broken. You and your grasslands are things that shouldn’t be.”

Áine is quiet. They keep their gaze firmly on their paws, on the lines they’ve made in the dirt, on the way their bracelets glow the same pale white Moon sometimes did, when the moon sank in the sky.

“Are you Sun?” someone asks. They look up, and meet the golden eyes of a creature they’ve never seen before, with a long muzzle and brown-black fur. Its ears stand perked on its head, and its eyes sparkle with fire.

They blink. The creature’s lips curl.

“Okay,” it says, “I’ll take your silence as an answer. I’m Nora, and I’m here to show you where to sleep. C’mon, get up.”

“I’m…” they trail off as they stand up. Nora huffs and starts to walk towards the tree. They follow.      

“Yeah. You’re Sun,” Nora says, “Bit of advice: You’re gonna be around a lot of creatures. Try to be polite. After all, I’m the one who decides when someone gets kicked out.”

“You’re a…” they think back to when they were a ruler, trying to grasp for the right word, “A protector?”

“Something like that,” Nora says. She crouches down and slips underneath one of the upturned roots, and they follow after, dirt scraping at their belly-fur. The glowing of their jewelry cuts off the second they’re underground, and they’re left in the dark shadows. It reminds them of the Underground, and they wonder if any of the shadows are alive.

Nora stops in front of a small den, dug into the bark. “Here,” she says, “Empty den. All dens have beds made of moss and various other plants. You can get up whenever, but if you want food you don’t have to catch, we provide meals whenever the sun or moon rises. We can send someone to wake you, if you want, otherwise you get your own food.”

“Sunrise and moonrise?” they ask. Nora sighs.

“Split River pack sleeps though the night, mostly, but some creatures sleep through the sun. We try to provide for everyone.”

“Oh,” they say, “Uh…” They wait for Áine to fill in with whatever time she’s usually up, but she doesn’t say anything. “I guess…sun. We’ll get up with the sun.”

“Great,” Nora says, “If you want to mark this den as yours, you can peel bark off the tree and carve your name-symbol into it; just show Marsh what it is so she can make note of it. You can stay as long as you want, but anyone who stays more than half a moon-cycle has to help us hunt. Got it?”

“Yeah,” they say, “Uh…thanks. For helping me.”

“It’s literally my job,” Nora says, “but you’re welcome. Also, Juniper wanted me to tell you that she’ll be out by the river most of tomorrow, if you want to see her.”

With that, Nora nods and turns around, trotting out of the tree and back into the moonlight. They watch her until she’s gone, and step into their den.

It’s dark, but no darker than the rest of the root-cave. They can make out the shadowy shape of a nest in the middle, and collapse into it, sighing in relief as the burn in their leg dies down, just a bit. Gods don’t sleep, and neither do rulers, but now, it’s all they want to do. They want to close their eyes and wait until the sun is up, wait for their pains to go away.

“Áine?” they call as they get comfortable, “Are you still there?”

_…yeah,_ Áine says,  _I’ve been here._

“Okay. Good,” they say.

_Sun, what was it about Juniper’s description of the forest-god that set you off?_ Áine asks,  _I’ve been thinking about it and nothing she said makes sense as something you’d get upset by._

"Words shouldn’t be used in that order,” they say, “There shouldn’t be a river-goddess. She shouldn’t protect from the forest-god. It’s like…” they trail off with a sigh, “I don’t know. The forest-god isn’t something mortals should be trying to get rid of. Gods are there for a reason, and that reason isn’t to be killed by mortals. Gods are supposed to be protectors, and I don’t understand why anyone would try to burn them.”

_I think we should see Juniper tomorrow,_ Áine says,  _Ask her about the forest-god._

“Okay,” they say, and then, “Why did you stop talking?”

_You said I wasn’t supposed to exist,_ Áine says. They expect her to go on, add more, but Áine is silent yet again.

They sigh. Part of them wants to complain about how difficult mortals are, that this is exactly what their problem is, but… “Goodnight,” they say.

Áine doesn’t answer, and they fall asleep wondering how Áine can do that: remove her thoughts from their shared head.     

* * *

_When they finally come back to their senses, can control their own form, the world below is on fire. The trees are screaming as their leaves crumble into soot and their roots wither in the flames, souls are trying to escape faster than they can send them back down, and Forest is screaming, thrashing, upturning the earth as fire eats him away._

_“Sun, what the hell did you do?” Moon spits, and it’s the first time she’s ever been mad at them. Her form glows rage and fear._

_“I…” they say, but can’t get the words out. They did this. The fire, eating the forest, is all theirs. Their soul is one of fire and heart and traitors. “I didn’t mean to…!”_

_“Yeah, because killing the forest-god was an accident,” Moon says, and even though the two of them are soul and power, they can feel her teeth on their neck, clamping down and drawing blood._

_“Let go!” they shriek, and their voice cracks as they pull up power and send it in all directions. Moon is sent flying across the sky, and fire explodes, falling down to the earth and setting a new patch of forest on fire._

_“Sun, back down!” says a voice more powerful than their own, and they want to, they want to stop and take back what they’ve done, cut the fire out of their soul, but they can’t and everything just keeps burning. If they had a body, they imagine their eyes alight with fire and heart, the one who spoke in lies._

_Forest roars from below, and trees go crashing to the ground, sending a new wave of souls floating up. They try to reach for one, to send it back, but their form glows fire and the soul is set ablaze._

_“Back down!” the powerful voice repeats, and they can feel the power in the word, thrumming though their being, through their soul, but they have a soul of fire and heart. Words of power don’t work on them._

_They can’t see the other gods, but they can feel them, pressing and clawing and hurting, so they grab the clouds and spin them into fire, a shield against everyone they once knew. Inside the fire, nothing can reach them. They hear only the hum of the flames, soft and crackling, and they want to sob. They want to hurt. They want to get the fire out of them._

_But they were born with fire, and born with heart, and born everything bad and evil. The world burns. The gods burn. And they are in the center of it, unyielding, unbreaking, traitorous. The forest turns to ash beneath their soul, Forest’s form cracks under the heat of the flames, and Moon lies stunned at the other end of the sky, surrounded by flame that glows red-hot._

* * *

They find Juniper standing in the middle of the river, the water breaking reflections of sunlight apart. Near her are three black creatures, covered in fuzz, and a creature that looks like it was cobbled together from the dead remains of others.

_Those must be the cubs, but I have no idea what the other one is,_ Áine says. She’s been more talkative since they woke, and they’re glad to hear her voice again, a never-ending chatter in the back of their mind. They’re used to chatter, whether it be the chatter of the gods, their subjects, and now, Áine.

Juniper looks up as they approach, and she grins. “Sun! I’m glad you’re up and about. I hope resting helped!”

“I’m fine,” they say, “What are they?” they swing their head to point first at the three little cubs, and then at the creature made of the parts of others, standing in the shallows of the river.

“Oh. Well, these are Lusa’s cubs: Beetle, Bark, and Branch. The hybrid over there is Golden Sky. He’s our…” Juniper trails off and blinks at Golden Sky.

“I’m the local mess!” he says, flicking his smooth tail, “I’m a hybrid of hybrids! I’ve never met anyone like me, but my Dad called me and my sister ‘Mosaics.’ Said it was a word that meant—”

“The combining of things to make a whole,” they say, cutting him off. Golden Sky huffs and clicks his beak. “I’ve heard about things like that. Moon said you were mistakes, rejects, homes for the souls that are on their last legs. I never thought I’d meet one of you, especially not an adult! How old are you?”

_You’re awful,_ Áine says, voice soft,  _You don’t tell creatures they’re mistakes, or that they’re not meant to exist._

“But it’s true,” they say, confused, “Things like Golden Sky aren’t meant to be. Everyone knows it.”

“Sun—” Juniper starts, lifting a paw to walk towards them, but Golden Sky cuts her off with a snarl. He flares his wings, made of leaves and branches, and lets out a harsh caw.

_Great,_ Áine says,  _look at you, making friends._

“I don’t know what I did!” they say, flinching backwards as Golden Sky stalks towards them, wings spread wide and tail lashing, “I don’t get it!”

“What don’t you get?” Golden Sky asks, and they squeeze their eyes shut, “I’ve had so many creatures tell me I’m a mistake. So many creatures who told me the forest should’ve snuffed me out before I could get older. So many creatures who told me it was good my sister died. And why? Because I’m a hybrid? Because I’m a mess of parts cobbled together with blood and bone? Believe me, I know. I know what I am.”

_I’m sorry,_ Áine says, but Golden Sky can’t hear her. Nobody hears Áine.

“It’s…” they try, but their eyes are shut and everything is dark and they can’t get their thoughts into words.  

Golden Sky huffs, “Fine. Whatever. Be scared of me.”

“I’m not, it’s just…” they try to reach for the power beside their soul, to speak it and smooth things over, but all they find is Áine’s soul, nestled beside theirs. “I…”

_Don’t wait for me to help you,_ Áine says,  _You got yourself into this._

“I’m just telling the truth,” they say, “I’m not…that’s not bad.”

Golden Sky narrows his eyes and scowls. “The ‘truth’ is that you think I shouldn’t be,” he says, “and that’s the kinda stuff I like not hearing.”

“But I don’t think that!” they say, and take a step closer to the hybrid, “I mean, you shouldn’t be here, but that doesn’t mean…I think Mosaics are cool! I think they’re interesting! They just…aren’t something the gods made, and things like that aren’t supposed to exist!”

You’re broken just like me, they want to say, but they don’t.

_I wish I could take my body back over because every word you say makes things even worse._

They huff, “Well fine, Áine, you tell me what to say!”

“Áine?” Golden Sky asks, “What are you talking about?” He turns to Juniper, who shakes herself off and trots out of the river.

“Hey,” Juniper said, “I think you’re a bit confused. Áine is your friend who died, right? So…she’s not here. But! I am! And Golden Sky! And the cubs! So why don’t we just start this whole thing over and you be nicer, okay?”

_For the love of fire and heart, please say yes. And then let the others do all the talking. And only say what I tell you to._

They narrow their eyes. They are a once-god, yet Áine thinks she can tell them what to do—

No. They shake the thoughts out of their mind and a whimper escapes their jaws. Juniper looks at them with something like concern, and Golden Sky just looks confused. They hear Áine in the back of their mind, asking if they’re okay, and she sounds scared and worried.

“I’m okay,” they say to Áine, and then, to Juniper, “Let’s start over.”

“Good!” Juniper beams, “Alright! So! I’m glad you seem better, Sun. This is Golden Sky, and the cubs who have been watching from the river are Beetle, Bark, and Branch.”

“Hi,” they say, first to Golden Sky, then to the cubs. The largest cub narrows her eyes at them, but the other two greet them back.

“You’re weird,” the largest cub says, and she wrinkles her nose at them, “You smell like death, and something really harsh and different. I don’t like it.”

“Beetle!” Juniper says, and she glares down at the cub, who lowers her head and backs away. With a growl, Juniper turns back to them. “I’m very sorry about her,” she says, “Beetle isn’t…she doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“No worse than what they were saying to me,” Golden Sky mutters, but they choose to ignore him.

“It’s okay,” they tell Juniper, “She’s right. I’m not…”

Áine isn’t forest-born, that much they know.

_I’m a fire-creature,_ Áine says with a sigh,  _born from fire and heart. If I’m right, you’re one too, or else you would’ve been way more freaked when you first woke up in my body. More fire and all that. I’m pretty sure forest-things can’t control fire._ At this, they can almost see Áine puffing out her chest, holding her head high, and they have to stifle a laugh.

_It’s not that funny,_ Áine says, but her voice is light,  _that aside, though, you really didn’t know I was a fire-creature?_

“No, I—” they start, but swallow their words when they remember they’re not alone. Golden Sky is still watching them, eyes narrowed, as is the largest bear cub, Beetle. The other two cubs don’t seem to be paying attention, splashing around in the shallows, but Juniper is.

“Sun?” Juniper asks, “Are you sure you’re okay? You kinda…”

“You zoned out on us,” Golden Sky says, “Just, in a totally different place. You’re not sick, are you? Because if you get any of us sick, rest stop code says we can and will keep you stuck up in the sick den, and you won’t come out until you get better.”

“Goldie, shut up,” Juniper snaps, “If they’re sick, scaring them won’t help.”

Golden Sky snorts. “Hey, they’re the one having conversations with themselves. That’s not something normal creatures do. It’s not even something I do, and we both know I barely fit in that category.”

They tune out the arguing of Juniper and Golden Sky, trying to think. They knew Áine was a fire-creature. They knew from the moment they saw her, with eyes so full of belief. They knew she was a fire-creature because she would talk back to them, ignore their commands, and forest-creatures don’t do that.

But they hadn’t really thought about it, like that. They, by being in Áine’s body, were a fire-creature. And that should’ve felt wrong. It should’ve felt different. Because they aren’t a fire-thing anymore, because they don’t have a soul to burn fire, because they aren’t a traitor to the gods and their ways.

_You seem to be having a really good time,_ Áine says,  _I’d hate to break it to you if you’re in denial or whatever, but you’re probably a fire-creature. I don’t know why you’re so upset about it. Being a fire-creature is great! I love knowing that no matter what the gods say, I’ll be free of their control, and never have to fear my actions aren’t my own. I’d hate to be a prisoner in my own—_

Áine cuts herself off, and they wait for her to talk again, hoping this won’t be like the other day, and they’ll be left with their own thoughts and nobody to talk to. But eventually, Áine speaks again, and her words are quiet.

_I am a prisoner in my own body._

“…and look, they’re doing it again! Sun, you alive in there? Juniper, what do you even think they’re doing? This isn’t normal!”

“I know, but…”

They shake their head and send their thoughts scattering, but they pull the needed ones back together and force their attention to Juniper and Golden Sky. Their vision is black at the edges, and everything feels like it’s spinning, but they manage not to stumble on their paws.

“I’m fine,” they say, and they’re only mostly lying, “Sorry. I do that.”

“Is it…” Golden Sky scuffs at the ground with one of his claws, scratching shapes into the dirt, “Is it healthy? This isn’t something contagious, right?”

“Golden Sky!” Juniper snarls, but they shake their head.

“It’s just me,” they tell him, “I’m…” they think back to all they know about fire-creatures, and how they work in the forest. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

“What, like you’re from some other part of the forest?” Golden Sky asks, “That much I gathered. Do you need help getting back?”

A thought hits them, and they nod, wagging their tail slightly. “Um, actually, yes! I’m a fire-creature, from the grasslands, and I need to get out of this forest somehow. Do either of you know how to do that?”

_If you end up sacrificing them to the forest-god I will personally rip control of my body back from you and kill the both of us,_ Áine growls in their head, and they flinch, tail freezing.  _Just letting you know. I’m not watching you god-things kill any more creatures than you already have._

“You want to leave the forest?” Golden Sky asks, and they nod, pretending Áine isn’t threatening them. Golden Sky seems to light up, and his beak splits into a wide grin.

“This is great,” Juniper mutters, but there’s no bite to it. Golden Sky lets out a loud caw and leaps into the air on wings of leaf. “Sorry, Sun. He’s been waiting for an opportunity like this since he came here.”

“You bet I have!” Golden Sky says with a laugh, landing beside Juniper with a flick of his tail, “You want to burn this forest down, fire-creature? I’m with you.”

Juniper glares at him, but she’s smiling, “You’re gonna scare them off!”

“Uh,” they say, and get the attention of the two creatures once again, “I’m confused?”               

“If you want to go to the heart of the forest, we’re the perfect group to get you there!” Golden Sky says, “All of us have a bone to pick with it. The forest-god got my sister killed, and is the whole reason I exist in the first place, so screw it for that. It took family from Juniper, made Hawk lose her eggs, did something awful to Nora, though she won’t tell us much, and now it’s, what? That Áine creature you were talking about? Did it kill her too?”               

“In a way,” they say, and Golden Sky nods, holding his tail proud.

“See? The forest takes, and takes, but what it doesn’t count on is creatures like you. Me and the rest of Split River couldn’t take on the forest-god alone, but with your fire…” he trails off, but they know the rest. It’s the whole reason the gods killed the fire-creatures in the first place. Things born with fire, born out of heart and flame, aren’t something needed in a forest.

_Wait, could we actually…_  Áine’s thoughts go jumbled and messy, splitting into multiple trails of thought, but they can understand what she’s getting at. Could they actually burn down the forest?

“We’ll have to plan things out with Marsh,” Juniper says, “But I’m sure she’d let us go. Now that we have a real fire-creature with us, we could free all the creatures of the forest!”

“Free,” they say, and they let the word settle on their tongue.

_Freedom,_ Áine says, quietly,  _Sun, what are you going to do if we make it to the heart of the forest?_

“I’m going to be free,” they say, and Golden Sky grins.

“We all are,” he says, “Now, c’mon, you two, let’s go see Marsh.”

* * *

_“We need to talk,” Moon says._

_“I don’t want to,” they say, and they let the flame in their soul burn brighter, “I want to be alone. I don’t want to hurt you again. I don’t want to hurt the gods again. I don’t want to be that again!”_

_“And you won’t be,” Moon says, and her stars send chills through their being, “I won’t let you. The rest of the gods are really mad at you, Sun, and so am I, but this is something I can try to fix. I can try to carve that part of you out of your soul, just like we carve it out of souls before we send them back.”_

_The part of them that is fire and heart blazes with an intensity that threatens to take over the rest of them again, and send the world into another burning, and part of them wants to let it happen. Wants to take the power in their soul, and set the entire world aflame, while they watch, unharmed, from above._

_“If we don’t do this, they’re going to kill you,” Moon says, “They probably will no matter what I do, but I have to try something. You’re my sibling, Sun. The moon and the sun are always together, following each other as they cycle. They don’t do apart, but are forever linked.”_

_“You have the stars,” they point out, “Even without the sun, the stars still shine.”_

_“The stars watch, and remember, but they aren’t all of me,” Moon says, and she presses closer to them, with her soul of distant secrets and vast space, “We were born to be beside each other. We were born to cycle together.”_

_Moon’s words are silvery threads that weave though the air and wrap around their soul, not so tightly that they couldn’t burn them off, but tight enough that they make themselves noticed. The sun is sinking closer to the horizon with every moment they spend in silence, so they pull themselves together and make a decision._

_“…fine,” they say, “Do it. Carve the traitorous parts of me out.”_

_“Thank you,” Moon breathes, and her threads dig into the flesh of their soul, “This will probably hurt a lot, but I promise it’ll work. It has to.”_

_“Okay,” they say, and their voice is taunt, “Okay.”_

_It feels like they’re being ripped apart. They’re only partially convinced that isn’t true._

* * *

Marsh is what they think Moon would look like if she was born a mortal.

Her fur is russet, well-groomed, and her eyes sparkle like stars, deep and distant. She’s sitting straight, tail tucked around her dark paws, twitching slightly as she studies a wide bit of bark in front of her. There’s a silver necklace dangling in front of her chest, and affixed to it is a small, white stone, that catches the light and sends shards of rainbow bouncing off the walls of the den.

“Golden Sky,” she says as he leads them into the room, pushing herself to her paws, “Is everything okay?”

“Better,” he says, and grins. It’s too wild to be the grin of a forest-creature, but not savage enough for the grin of a fire-creature. They aren’t sure how to categorize it.

_You’re odd,_ Áine says _,_  and they can’t help the small smile on their muzzle. They feel something like joy bubbling up in their chest, and Áine laughs.

“We found a fire-creature,” Golden Sky is saying, and with a shake of their head, they return their attention to him and Marsh.

“A fire-creature?” Marsh asks, and she turns her eyes to them. Her gaze is piercing, and they’re pretty sure she can see their souls, both theirs and Áine’s, nestled together. Behind them, their tail stiffens, and they fight the urge to drop their head. They’re a once-god, not some mortal, and they won’t let this fox scare them!

“Yup! From the grasslands, and they want to help us burn the forest,” Golden Sky says. Marsh huffs out a laugh, and turns her attention back to Golden Sky. They shake themselves out and sit down, Juniper looking over with a tilt of her head and prick of her ears.

“Well!” Marsh says, “A real fire-creature. Never though I’d live to see one of you. Sun, was it? I’m glad you’re here.”

“Uh…” they say, and blink. “Yeah. I’m here to help…” the words catch in their throat, but they manage to hack them up, “…burn down the forest.”

It’s wrong, that’s what it is. They aren’t made for traitorous things; they made sure of that. Even saying the lie makes their fur crawl like it’s full of maggots. They aren’t made to burn down forests. They weren’t made to burn down forests.

_If you say it enough, does it come true?_ Áine asks, or maybe they do, or maybe it’s the two of them. They aren’t sure where the thought comes from.

“Nora would go with you, and maybe the Hawks?” Marsh peels a bit off bark off the side of her den, and drops it to the ground, scratching lightly into it. “That would leave me and Lusa to govern camp, but we can always ask the regulars to help out…”

The fox mutters to herself as she scratches into the wood. Golden Sky flicks his tail, proud, and sits beside Juniper.

“…she’s been training her friend, though. She could take over as guard, and those griffins that always bring back the most prey could help out. The cubs are getting old, too, I’m sure we can find something for them to do…”

With a sigh, Marsh shoves the bark away and shakes herself. She huffs and turns back to the three of them.

“Go find Nora and the Hawks,” she says, “Tell them to come meet with me, and then the six of you can set out to the heart of the forest.”

“You’re letting us go?” Golden Sky asks, wings quivering as though they can barely contain his joy. Marsh nods.

“Chances like this don’t come often,” she says, and she lifts a paw to touch the stone on her necklace, “We must act fast, before the forest realizes there is a fire-creature within.”

“Realizes?” they ask, barely managing not to flinch when Marsh turns to them, “What do you mean by that?”

“The forest is…” Marsh pauses, as though she is tasting words on her tongue, trying to find the right one, “…it’s angry. Very angry. It knows that the only thing that poses a threat to it is the fire of a fire-creature, so when it notices one living within its boundaries, it comes to smother them with rot before they can do anything. I’m surprised it hasn’t noticed you, to be honest.”

“Oh,” they say, swallowing, “Oh.”

They didn’t know the forest did that. They knew the gods did it, they knew Moon and them were tasked with shredding the souls of fire-creatures, but they never knew what happened to the few souls that escaped. They had assumed death, but were never sure. Nobody ever bothered to tell them.

_You gods seem terrible,_ Áine says,  _why do you still stand by them? They obviously don’t care about anyone but themselves._

They sigh. Their relationship to the gods…they haven’t thought about it much since they got stuck with Áine. They’re still a god, aren’t they? Once-god or not, they were a god, and that can’t be broken. They’ll always be at least somewhat god, because it’s impossible for anyone to take away all their power.

They stand with the gods because it’s what they’re supposed to do. They stand with the gods because they’re familiar, and comfortable, and unchanging.

_It’s not good to get too comfortable,_ Áine says, as though she’s warned creatures of this many times before,  _you never know what the gods are going to throw at you. You never know when they’ll decide that you’re a threat._

They blink, and think, ‘wait, can you hear me?’

_Uh, yeah? We share a…body? Mind? Whatever it is, we’re both crammed into the same headspace. You can hear me, why wouldn’t I hear you?_

‘I can’t hear your thoughts’, they think, and groan, ‘so you’ve heard me this entire time?’

_Not everything, don’t worry,_ Áine says, amused,  _only the stuff somewhat directed at me. You don’t hear my thoughts because I’m not directing them at you._

‘Huh’, they think, and then shake their head clear, when they remember that the buzzing in their ears is the other creatures around them talking.

“Don’t worry, Marsh. They do this,” Golden Sky is saying, voice a sharp, humming caw that scrapes the edges of their ears, “They claim it’s not contagious.”

Juniper huffs. “They’re still…” she trails off, and her voice is something earth-rich, low and deep, “I think they haven’t gotten over the death of their friend.”

Marsh speaks next, and it’s like water rushing over rocks, distorting reflections. “Are you sure they’re up for this, then?” she asks, “I don’t want to push something on Sun if it’s not what they want. Just because they’re a fire-creature doesn’t mean they’re impervious to emotions.”

“I’m fine,” they say, and the three creatures turn to face them. Golden Sky tilts his head and flicks the tip of his tail.

“I thought you zoned out,” he says, and then, “Did you hear everything?”

His voice still buzzes in their ears, but they grit their teeth and speak anyway. “Just the end,” they say, “I’m not…I’m not broken. I can do this.”

“Are you sure?” Marsh asks, and looks them in the eyes. Her own eyes are a deep brown, and reflect countless stories. They can’t help but wonder what the fox has lived through.

“I am,” they say, “Juniper’s wrong. I’m not messed up about Áine’s death. She’s—” they cut themselves off before they can say, ‘she’s here with me,’ and instead stare at their paws: three off-white, stained with dirt and leaves, and the fourth a red-brown, not dark enough to be the color of earth, but not light enough to be fire. It’s something muted, in the muddle.

“She’s what?” Juniper asks, “I thought you said Áine died?”

They shake their head, “No, she’s…she’s dead. I’m just…”

“Haven’t fully accepted it?” Golden Sky offers, “Pretending she’s still with you? Suppressing your emotions?” He twitches his wings and tucks them closer to his body. “Believe me, I know what it’s like to not fully understand the death of someone close to you.”

“Not…exactly?” they try, and sigh, “It doesn’t matter. I can do this. I’ll help you.”

Marsh tilts her head, but says, “If you’re sure. Juniper, can you go find Nora, and Golden Sky, can you and Sun find the Hawks? Once you find them, come back here, and then tell you what I know of the forest, and how to stay alive in the depths of it.”

They blink, and stare down at their paws. Going with Golden Sky…?

_Do you think he still hates you?_ Áine asks,  _he was way nicer when he learned that you were a fire-creature, but that might’ve been because he was overjoyed to have a chance to leave._

‘I hope not’, they think, and look up and into the dark eyes of Golden Sky.            

“You coming?” he asks, “Or are you zoning out again?”

“I’m coming,” they say, and then, to Áine, ‘what do I do if he hates me?’

_Apologize,_ she says,  _he has every right to hate you. You did insult him to his face, and even if you didn’t mean it, you didn’t make that clear._

‘I’ve never had to do this before,’ they tell her , ‘this forgiving stuff, I mean. I’m a god. We don’t do stuff like that. We’ve never had to.’

_Well, you’re not a god anymore. As far as I can tell, you don’t have any power, which makes you no godlier than the rest of us._

‘I guess,’ they say, but they know that’s not true. Godhood can’t be taken away. It’s woven into the heart of their soul. Without power, a god is nothing. They don’t exist, because their soul has nothing keeping it together, nothing keeping it from floating off in all directions.

“You said you’d come,” Golden Sky says, and it’s like the world around them is pulled out of the fog, clear and sharp and bright. They flinch back, a bit, and their tail tucks close to their legs.

“Sorry,” they mutter.     

“Look, this better not be a constant problem. If we’re fighting the forest-god and you zone out, what’re we supposed to do? Die?”

“It won’t happen again,” they snap, and Golden Sky looks at them with narrowed eyes.

“Okay,” he says, “Fine. Let’s just get this done with.”

They follow Golden Sky out of the den, and the dirt under their paws hums with broken promises.

* * *

_They’re surrounded on all sides. The gods are all there, in misty forms, and they curl further into themselves._

_“We’ve decided your punishment,” says the powerful one, the king one, and his form is big and godly. He’s a deep gray, with wings the color of dying light, and eyes that glow excess power._

_“Punishment,” they repeat, voice raw and rasping. They can see Moon, and her soul is green with fear and red with rage. They can’t see the colors of their own soul, but they imagine it must be a sickly fear._

_“Sun, you destroyed the forest,” the king says, “You created land that none of us have power over. All the creatures in this godless land are unaffected by even the strongest words we speak. They are things born of fire and heart, and we cannot let this slip by us. We cannot let the world fall into the hands of these fire-things, into destruction, or everything we’ve done would’ve been for nothing.”_

_“The forest isn’t growing back?” the ask, shuffling the paws of their mouse-like form, and the king shakes his head._

_“No. That land is under control of the unlawful creatures that roam it.”_

_“I created that,” they say, and something in their soul is purple-pride._

_“We’re banishing you to Earth,” the king says, ignoring them, and gesturing to the land below with a swoop of his wide wings, “We’re giving you a body made of dirt and brittle things, and we’re keeping you trapped in the darkness of the shadow world. As long as you stay in the shadows, we could care less what happens._

_“How long is this going to be?” they ask._

_“It won’t be forever.” This time, Moon is the one to answer, currently looking like a cross between a fox and a falcon, her deep red fur speckled with brown feathers, “Just until we can get the fire-things under control, and destroy them all. The sun always returns to the sky, Sun. Don’t worry.”_

_“We cycle,” they say, and Moon nods._

_“I’ll watch the sun until you return,” she says, “Stay safe. We’re stripping you of most of your power. You’ll have some control over words, and if your body is destroyed, you’ll just take over a new one, and kill whatever soul resides inside.”_

_“My power?” they ask, and they’re again flooded with fear, “You can’t take that away. It’s carved into my soul. You can’t take godhood away from me. You can’t take what I was born with.”_

_“We can, and we will,” the king says, and they can feel the thrum of power in his words, “We’re going to rip the power from your soul, sever the connection, and when you return to godhood, you’ll get it back.”_

_They can feel their soul fluttering, and they want to run and rage and fight back, but they bow their head to the gods and detach themselves from as many senses as they can._

_“Okay,” they say, “Okay.”_

_When they next open their eyes, their soul is crammed into dirt, and they’re not surrounded by gods, but curious shadow-creatures._

* * *

 

“The Hawks should be up here…” Golden Sky tells them, his leaf-wings twitching, “Don’t be weird around them. Hawk is rude. She tries not to be, but she’s still unlearning all the awful stuff her family taught her.”

“Okay,” they reply, and then, to Áine, ‘Weird? Do you know what he means by that?’

_You talk to yourself, stare into space, don’t understand how mortals work, and you’re blunt. There’s nothing wrong with that, it’s just…creatures are judgmental. If you don’t act their idea of normal, they get suspicious._

‘The gods do that too,’ they tell Áine, ‘They hated me, after I…’ they trail off, and sigh. ‘They didn’t like me.’

_Sun,_ Áine says, voice soft,  _I’m sorry you had to go through that. The gods are just as bad as we suspected, huh?_

‘They aren’t doing it to be mean,’ they say, shaking their head, ‘They’re right. I am wrong. I’m a traitor and no better than the Scalewings we got rid of at the start of the world.’

Áine starts to talk, but Golden Sky lets out a friendly chirp, and they look up to see who they can only assume are the Hawks.

One of them is an actual hawk, her feathers a warm brown. She’s perched on a low branch, and chirps back in greeting. Beside her, is the other Hawk, a cat. The cat is deep brown with a cloud-white belly. She narrows her eyes, and her greeting is a low growl.

“Hey guys,” Golden Sky says, “This is Sun. They’re a fire-creature. Wanna help us burn the forest down?”

“Burn the forest down?” the bird Hawk asks, flapping her wings, “When do we start?”

“After we see Marsh,” Golden Sky says, “It’ll be us, Juniper, and Nora.”

“I’m in!” the bird Hawk chirps, flying down and landing on Golden Sky’s back. “Hi!” she says to them, and they blink.

“Uh…hi?” they say.

_Try to make friends, you’ll be travelling together for a while,_ Áine suggests. They nod.

“I’m Hawk, but you can call me Hawk,” here, the bird makes a sharp clicking noise, “to tell us apart easier.”

“I didn’t even agree to go,” the cat Hawk calls from the tree, ears flat, “What if I don’t trust this dog?”

“You think I trust this dog?” Hawk- _click_ asks, tilting her head with a chirp of laughter, “Of course I don’t! But if they’re a fire-creature, then this is our only way out of the forest. We can’t wait around for another opportunity like this!”

The cat hisses, but hops down from the tree, graceful, with fur sleek and groomed. “If we die, I’ll make sure to annoy you out of existence.”

“I’ll look forward to that,” Hawk- _click_ says, and flaps her wings. Hawk’s ears flick in her direction, and they catch the hint of a smile on her muzzle.

Golden Sky huffs and flicks his tail. “Can we get going? You both know we don’t have much time, and we have to see Marsh before we go.”

“Jeez, yeah, we’re going,” Hawk says, narrowing her eyes, “What, you think we’re gonna ruin this for you? We want out of the forest just as much as you do, maybe more.”

“The forest took my sister,” Golden Sky spits, and Hawk arches her back, her tail sweeping leaves off the ground behind her. On Golden Sky’s back, Hawk- _click_ lets out a harsh caw, and the two turn their angry gazes to her.

‘What’s going on?’ they ask Áine. She doesn’t respond, but they can hear her whine of confusion. So. No help from her, then.

“Can you stop this?” Hawk- _click_ asks, ruffling her wings, “We don’t have time for grudges. Let’s go see Marsh, and then you two don’t have to travel together, okay? We’ll stick to the back, Golden Sky to the front. Is that good?”

“Fine,” Hawk says, “But only because it’s you. I’m not doing this for the dog or the mosaic.” She lowers her back and shakes out her fur, taking a step away from Golden Sky. Hawk- _click_ lets out a soft trill, and flutters over to perch on Hawk’s back.

“Great,” Golden Sky says, and spins to lead the way back to Marsh’s den, “Sun, stick with me.”

“Okay,” they say, and hurry to catch up, “Is Hawk…why is she rude to you?”

“Doesn’t trust me,” Golden Sky says, “She was always taught that creatures like me were the scum of the earth. Honestly, her upbringing was something like yours, if I’m guessing right. You were taught that you’re the best, blah blah, all hail the forest-god, fire is bad and evil, something like that? I guess you were kicked out when they found out you were a fire-creature…”

“Something like that,” they say, and push memories of their power being ripped from them away, memories of sharp, unkind faces and light unnatural and bright. “Áine seems to think they’re not good, but I dunno. They’re my family. They’re supposed to know what’s best for me, right?”

“Who’s Áine?” Golden Sky asks, “You’ve mentioned her a few times now, and I still don’t know what she was, other than the fact that the forest took her away. I know we started off on the wrong foot, but…” he sighs and ruffles his wings in what Sun thinks is discomfort, “Guess I’m just trying to be nice. The forest took someone from both of us. I understand how it gets to you.”

“I’m sorry,” they say, and they’re pretty sure they mean it, “Áine was my…”

_Travelling partner? Friend?_ Áine suggests, and her voice is warm. They smile slightly at the sound of it.

“…friend,” they decide on, “She was my friend.”

Golden Sky nods, and his tail flicks behind him as he speaks. “None of us deserve this,” he says, “Shit, Sun, you may be rude and…I guess unaccepting would be the word, but you still don’t deserve that. We’re stuck here together, yeah?”

“Yeah,” they say, and frown, “Are you going somewhere with this?”

“Wanted to apologize,” he says, “For yelling at your earlier.” Golden Sky stops just before Marsh’s den, waiting for Hawk and Hawk- _click_ to catch up. “We can’t help the things we’re taught since birth.”

_But we can unlearn them,_ Áine says, as though Golden Sky can hear her.

“No, I’m…” they start, and push down every godly instinct screaming at them to speak power, to weave the world to their will, and instead, say, with no power in it at all, “Sorry.”

It feels good, mostly. Hawk and Hawk- _click_ have almost reached them, so Golden Sky doesn’t answer, just stares at them. They can hear Áine’s bark of surprise from their head, and they grin.

“Let’s get this over with,” Hawk says as she approaches, Hawk- _click_ perched on her back, who lets out a chirp of laughter. Golden Sky nods, and leads the way in.

Juniper and Nora are already there, talking to Marsh. Juniper calls out a greeting, and Nora huffs beside her. Marsh smiles and leaps up onto a thick root, so she’s sitting over the six of them.

“This isn’t going to be safe,” is the first thing Marsh says, once everybody is sitting. They’ve found themselves between Nora and Golden Sky, the former who only thumps her tail to acknowledge their presence. “Countless creatures have tried to battle the forest, and none have returned.”

“But we’ll have a fire-creature,” Golden Sky says, and Marsh nods.

“The forest has killed fire before. The gods have killed fire before. None of us know what lies in the center of the forest, but we do know that it’s powerful. It’s dangerous. It doesn’t care about us, and doesn’t care if we die.” Marsh turns to them, and they blink at her, startled.

“Ma’am?” they try, and Marsh sighs.

“Sun, you’re the only fire-creature we have. Do you know how to control your fire?”

_I do,_ Áine says,  _I’ll teach you, okay?_

“Yes,” they say, and their voice doesn’t shake when they say it.

“Then you need to use that fire to burn everything to the ground,” Marsh says, “Remember that the gods will try to control you. They’ll slip into your mind, and you’ll be doing what they say without realizing it. Watch out for each other, follow the river-goddess, and if you’re in a pinch, start burning.”

“Marsh?” Nora asks, and Marsh nods to let her speak, “If we win, do you want us to return for you?”

Marsh shakes her head. “Run,” she says, “Escape into the grasslands. But try to set us all free as you do it. The grasslands used to be forest, long ago. Turn this forest into grasslands, recreate the Great Burning. Sun is a very powerful fire-creature, to have survived in the forest this long. I have no doubt that they can burn down a good chuck of it.”

Marsh pauses to catch her breath, and Sun is struck again by how much the fox reminds her of Moon, down to the way she stops to think. It’s odd, seeing their sister in this mortal.

But then Marsh speaks, and she isn’t anything like Moon, with her words like gentle flames. “Go make the forest-creatures proud,” she says, “Go change the world.”

And they set off to do just that.

* * *

 

_Their first days in the Underground are endless. Without the light of their sun, without watching it set in the sky, they can’t sleep, and are left pacing, clawing at the dirt below them and snapping at any shadows that come close. Here, they are nothing but a mortal with a god’s words rattling inside their hollow bones, separated from their sun and their other half._

_On what they think to be the fifth day, they stop killing the shadows. The creatures aren’t sentient enough to bother killing. They instead try to crash their way through the packed earth walls and into the world above, to reclaim their godly power. They start using fire they didn’t know they still had to burn away the roots that reach for them whenever they dig too deep, and ignore the fear that runs through them when the fire feels right in their paws._

_They’re the god of the sun. They aren’t made to destroy._

_It takes forever for them to give up. They fight until their soul is more flame than god, the cracks left when their power was stolen full of shadow, and they turn their attention inwards._

_Specifically, to the shadows._

_They make themselves ruler, god of shadow and under-earth, and they let fire eat away at their soul. They ignore every warning Moon’s ever given them, forget what she even looks like, and forget what they look like, too._

_They’re ruler of Underground, and they have an army of shadows and a mouthful of fire. They’re a once-god and they’re angry, and something in their soul burns black. They let that blackness burn until it’s all they know, until they’re a shell of rage and fire, until they’re broken and have no choice but to flee._

_When their body is shattered by Fire herself, they remember Moon, and they remember being a god, and they remember shadows and fire and burning the world to ash. They remember how words didn’t work on them, how they were heart thrumming and belief screaming and everything refusing to give in._

_Then they wake up in a body too heavy to be their own, and all they want is to never be a monster again._

* * *

The first few days of travel pass quickly. The river is large and easy to follow, and Golden Sky leads with grim determination. Juniper joins them up at the front, to talk with Nora, so they mostly talk to Golden Sky. He’s decent company, especially since he doesn’t seem to hate them for what they said before.    

They learn a lot about the river-goddess, from him. While they were a god, they never met any river-goddess, so they’re not convinced she exists, but then again, they thought all fire-creatures were long dead, so maybe there are river-creatures? They know there isn’t a river-goddess, because they would’ve know, and any god wouldn’t for a second think about helping mortals.

_Is that not what you’re doing?_ Áine asks, amused, and they snort.

‘I’m using them,’ they say, and toss their head, ‘Big difference. When we get to the forest-god, I’m going to ask him to get me Moon, remember? I’m not actually burning the forest down.’

_Oh, right,_ Áine says, and she sounds put-out,  _I forgot._

“Hey, Sun, are you even listening?” They jolt out of their conversation with Áine, and see Golden Sky, his tail twitching. “You can tell me if I’m boring you,” he says, and they shake their head.

“No! I want to learn more. I need to know more. Keep talking.”

“Okay…” he says, and ruffles his leaf and branch wings, “Now I lost my place…did I tell you about the legends of the river-goddess?”

“Probably not,” they say, since the words don’t ring any bells.

“Cool,” Golden Sky says, “So, long ago, the river-goddess wasn’t a thing. There were just the old gods, like the forest-god and the moon-goddess and…I think there was one other big one, but hell if I remember it.”

“The sun-god?” they try, because it’s odd they’d be forgotten like that. For mortals, there’s them and Moon and Forest. There’s other gods, they know, but they don’t deal with mortals. Like Power, or King, or Time. Gods in the abstract.

“The what?” Golden Sky asks, eyeing them oddly, “Didn’t catch that. You went all…your words sounded blurry.”

“The sun-god,” they say, “Sun. God of the sun and the clouds and the sky. Counterpart to Moon. Catcher of Souls. You know, like my name?”

“All I got was ‘counterpart to Moon,” Golden Sky says with a frown, “Your words keep going blurry. Do you need to rest? The sun’s still high in the sky, but we can always stop for a little while.”

“No! I’m fine!” they snap, and can taste blood in their mouth, “You can’t…you can’t hear me when I say ‘sun-god?’”

“Nope,” Golden Sky says.

“I think…I need to take a break,” they say, and their breaths are short and panicked, “Keep going without me. I’ll catch up.”

“I…if that’s what you want?” Golden Sky flattens his ears, but doesn’t protest. “Uh. See you later, I guess?”

“Yeah,” they manage. They wait there, sitting and hunched over, until they can’t hear the voices of their group, and it’s just them and the rush of the river.

_I can hear you, Sun,_ Áine says,  _everything about the sun-god, I heard that. Are you…do you need anything?_

“I’m the sun-god, Áine. I’m…that’s me. They promised after I repented for what I did I’d go back up and be a god and everything would be normal! But this…they erased me! They tore me out of the tapestry of gods and now nobody down here can remember me! Áine…do you think they never planned to let me back?”

_S_ _un…_  she says, and they can hear the pity in her words,  _Sun, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m no god, but I know they aren’t good. If they cast you out, then that’s on them. What did you do, anyway?_

“You won’t hate me for it?” they ask, “Moon hates me for it, I think.”

_I won’t,_ Áine promises,  _Moon’s your counterpart?_

“She’s my sister,” they say, “We were born to cycle together. We were born to follow in the others footsteps. I…I’m god of light. I’m god of the sun. But there’s...I think I’m a fire-creature, Áine, I think I’m broken and traitorous and monstrous. That’s why they cast me out, because I burned down the forest and created the grasslands and brought back the fire-things. I’ve been…I was stuck in the Underworld for so long, and I was the ruler of the shadows, but then you killed me and now I’m stuck here, and I don’t know what to do! I thought I could go back to the gods, but…I guess they don’t want me back. The worst thing you can do to a god is write them out of existence, because if nobody believes in them, they won’t exist. You aren’t a creature if you’re stripped of your name and everything that makes you yourself.”

_S_ _crew the gods, then,_ Áine says,  _you’re better than that. They wrote you out? They wanted you to die? I say return the favor. We’re fire-creatures. We laugh in the faces of the gods. We reject them as all-powerful. You created something amazing, Sun, you brought fire from forest. You’re not a god, but you’re something better. You’re fire, and you can burn brighter than any sun._

“I’m not a monster,” they mutter, and flop down so they’re lying on their side, watching the wind tug at the branches. They’re laying in damp dirt, but they don’t care. They fiddle with one of the golden bracelets on their paw. “Where’d you get this?” they ask.

_My jewelry?_ They nod, and they can feel Áine’s soul beside theirs. It’s bright and beaming and proud.  _I found it. I was out hunting with Icicle, and I saw this…it was like it was calling me, if that doesn’t sound absurd. I saw this flash of pale light, and decided to go check it out, and well. Now I have these._

“They’re pretty,” they say, “I like them.”

_…If we weren’t in the same body, I think I’d give them to you._

“What?” they ask, and the steady thump of their tail stops, “Why?”

_Another feeling,_ she says, and sighs,  _I always felt there was something off about them, but that’s the same feeling I get from you. Something off. I don’t think they were meant to be mine. I think I was supposed to hold onto them, until the time was right._

They don’t know how to respond to that, other than a soft whine, so the two of them stay in silence for a while. They’re not sure how long it’s been, but the sun has started to set, and when they first stopped, the sun was nearing it’s peak.

“Áine?” they ask, and she lets out a little hum, “I’m not sure what to do.”

_Nobody ever knows what to do,_ Áine says,  _we just guess, and hope for the best._

“I’m bad at not being a god,” they tell her, “I’m used to everything happening how I tell it to. I don’t have any power, and I can’t speak godly words, and even if I could…isn’t it weird that godly words don’t work on me? They work on the other gods, but when I burned down the forest, they told me to stop and I just kept burning.”

_That’s what being a fire-creature means,_ Áine says,  _We don’t play by the rules of the gods. We make our own._

“I like that idea,” they say, and then, “Can you teach me to control fire?”

Áine laughs, a sound beautiful and bright,  _Now’s as good a time as any. Controlling fire is…it’s like controlling your emotions. Think about everything you hate, everything you want to burn, and then everything and everyone you want to protect. Fire can be used to destroy, but it’s also something that can be used to protect. You want to find a mixture of the two, so you burn what needs to be burned, but protect your friends._

“I don’t know who I want to protect,” they say, but push themselves to their paws, “I think I want to protect you, but you’re in…no, I’m in your body so we have that covered.”

_What about the rest of the group? Golden Sky, Juniper, Nora, the Hawks…all of those creatures are counting on you to keep them safe when you meet the forest-god._

“But I don’t know if I want to burn Forest,” they say, “I mean, the gods abandoned me, but they’re all I know. And I deserve it. I broke the laws and they lied to me, but I’m the one who ruined their plans.”

_You didn’t ruin anything,_ Áine says, fiercely,  _you changed the world for the better. If it wasn’t for you creating the grasslands, then I wouldn’t be here, and you wouldn’t be here, and the world would be the same._

“Isn’t that better?” they ask, and close their eyes with a whine, “If everything stays the same, I know what to expect. I know what to do. Everything is different and I don’t like it.”

_But things changed for the better,_ Áine says, softer,  _You brought hope, Sun. The grasslands and the fire-creatures bring hope to the creatures of the forest. It gives them another option. If nothing changes, nothing will ever get better. It might be harder than sticking to old routines, but it’s always good. Change is what allows the world to grow._

“That’s not…the gods already made the perfect world. Why…” they sigh and roll onto their back, opening their eyes to stare at the clouds, “If it works well enough, what’s the point in fixing it? We’ll just be stopped by the gods, anyway. We don’t stand a chance against them.”

_We’re fire-creatures,_ Áine says, _we were born to disobey gods._

“Maybe,” they say, “Can we try the fire again?”

_Of course,_ Áine says,  _whatever you need._

Controlling fire is easier than they thought. By the time the moon has risen, they’re able to conjure fire at will, and most of the time are able to stop it from burning everything. Seeing their (Áine’s) fire makes them want to forget everything godly they learned, and let their fire spread and rage until Forest is nothing but ash beneath their paws.

“We should stop,” they say, as they watch a pile of dead leaves burn, “We should go catch up with the group.”

Áine laughs.  _That’d be smart,_ she says,  _It’d suck if we got lost._

“How much longer do you think it’ll take?” they ask as they snuff out the flames and start following the river. They have no idea how far the group managed to travel, but it’s night, so they’ve probably stopped walking by now.

_To get to the center? Not sure. I’ve never been in the forest this long._ Áine lets out a soft huff.  _Hopefully soon. I can’t wait to watch the forest burn._

“Yeah,” they lie, “Áine, I’m still not sure what I’ll do when we see Forest. If the gods don’t want me, do you think they’d just kill me with the rest of you?”

_Yup,_ Áine says,  _the gods don’t care about anything but themselves, and you’re not one of them anymore. They’d kill you just as quick as they’d kill me._

“But I used to be one of them,” they say, and Áine snorts.

_Used to,_ she says,  _they wanted the world to forget you. If that doesn’t prove that they don’t care about you, I think you’re a lost cause._

“No, I get it. I just…” they scuff at the mud beneath their paws, “What happens to me if I reject godhood? If I embrace the fire-creature part of me?”

_We burn those suckers to the ground,_ Áine says,  _win-lose. We win, they lose._

“Moon tried to carve the fire out of me,” they say, ignoring her, “I thought she did it, but I guess she failed.

_You can’t carve out the very essence of someone without destroying them,_ Áine says,  _Gods don’t understand fire-creatures. They think there’s something, a single something, that’s wrong in us, and if they smooth it over we’ll be their idea of perfect. But that’s not how it works. Every part of us is fire, and that can’t be taken away without killing the soul._

“They took my godly power,” they counter.

_That’s not all of you, that’s just power,_ Áine says,  _my fire is more like an extension of my being. Like how deer have antlers, that’s what fire is like to me._

“Okay, I’ll trust you on that,” they say.

_You trust me?_

They nod. “Well, yeah. We share a body so I don’t think it’s really possible for us to lie to each other, and you’re the only person who knows anything about me. I can’t tell the others, now even less so since they can’t hear me when I say ‘sun-god.’ Maybe I only feel like this since we’re stuck together, but…it feels right? I like having another soul with me. I used to always have Moon, and she’s gone, and this isn’t the same, but…it’s nice. You’re nice.”

_Oh,_ Áine says, and she doesn’t say anything for a while. They laugh quietly and continue following the river.

The moon’s halfway up in the sky, and the scent of their group much stronger, when Áine finally speaks.  _I trust you, too,_ she says,  _I think you can be something amazing and bright._

“I don’t…” They shuffle their paws and stop where they are. They’re growing closer to the group, and don’t want them to overhear anything.

_I mean it. I think the gods have been trying to break you for so long now, and that was all you knew, so you accepted it as your normal. But now you’re here, and that’s not normal, and I think we can fix what the gods tried to break. I think we can burn the forest down and free everyone. I think you can do this all. I think…well, I don’t know. That you’re going to be amazing._

“…what if I’m not,” they whisper into the wind, “What if I’m just a monster?”

_Then we’ll be monsters together,_ Áine says,  _besides, not all monsters are bad. Some are misunderstood, or painted that way by the true evil._

“The gods are the true evil,” they say, and the words are like poison, but there’s a fire burning in their soul and they don’t think they care much. “The gods…we…”

The world used to be something before there were gods. They know this because Moon told them, once, a story about soot and endless grass and a world without forest. A story about creatures with so much fire in them, that the gods had to erase their existence to make their perfect world.

Moon and them were born after this. They weren’t needed until the gods said so.

“I think we broke the world,” they tell Áine, “I think the gods killed a lot of innocent creatures.”

_Do you want to do something about that?_

“I want to be free,” they say, “I want us all to be free. I think the gods took that freedom from me. I think…do you think I was always a god?”

_I don’t know,_ Áine says,  _but does this mean you’re up to burn the forest?_

“We’re all going to be free of this,” they say, and their smile is one of the wicked fire.

* * *

Nora is the only one awake when they stumble into camp, the moon almost at its peak. She narrows her eyes at them, but her tail thumps in welcome behind her.

“You okay?” she asks, “We were worried when you didn’t come back.”

“I had to think,” they say, “I’m good now. How close are we?”

“I’d say…another day or so? According to Golden Sky, the center is really easy to find when you want to, and the forest is getting thicker, so. We must be near the light-deer.”

“Okay. Cool,” they tell her, and then, to Áine, ‘What do I do when we get there? Just start setting stuff on fire?’

_I like that plan,_ Áine says, and they grin.

“You can go find somewhere to sleep. I’m keeping watch until the moon’s at it’s peak, then I switch with Hawk,” Nora says.

They nod, and trudge into the camp. It’s a mess of fallen leaves and various mosses, all piled together into something resembling a nest. There’s on empty one, and a space left in Juniper’s. They assume the latter is for Nora, and collapse into the empty nest. It’s not comfortable, but it’s better than sleeping in mud, so they’ll take it.

Their sleep is short and restless. They dream of an endless expanse of fire, of the world breaking and falling under the weight of the sky, and when they’re nosed awake by Golden Sky, they waste no time shaking moss out of their fur and getting up.

Juniper is the last one up, yawning, and she asks, “We’re meeting the light-deer today, right? Isn’t that what you said?” She turns to Golden Sky, and tilts her head.        

“We should,” Golden Sky says, adding, “Oh, wait. I wanted to give you guys something.” He sits down, and then yanks a few scales off of his front legs, spitting them onto the ground in front of him.

“Not this again,” Nora mutters, “Gold, you know that’s just a superstition, right? As in, it isn’t real?”

“Mosaic scales are lucky!” Golden Sky protests, “It’s worked before, okay? We need all the luck we can get right now. It’s like that saying, ‘the one time you forget something, you need it.’ If I didn’t do this, we’d be dead, but this covers our bases a little.”

“That made absolutely no sense,” Nora says, but she takes the scale when Golden Sky offers it to her.

‘Is that true?’ they ask Áine after Golden Sky tosses them a scale. It’s the color of the setting sun, a deep, orange-yellow, and light from above glints off of its edges. They look around to see what everyone’s doing with it. Juniper’s holding hers, as is Hawk- _click,_ but Nora has hers wrapped around her paw with a few bits of vine, and Hawk’s is somehow tucked behind her ear.

_Gonna be honest, I didn’t even know mosaics existed until I met Golden Sky. Could be. Better safe than sorry, right? Star-spot’s superstitious; she’d never leave camp without indigo wrapped around her paw, and nothing bad ever happened to her._

‘Indigo?’ they ask, looking around for something they could use to keep the scale on. Nora’s taken the only bits of vine long enough, so they tuck it into their necklace. It presses against their throat, but it isn’t uncomfortable, just odd.

_It’s this purple-blue plant that grew near our camp. Superstition says it’s supposed to protect against the gods, that it has warding properties or something._

‘Huh,’ they say, and return their attention to the rest of the group. Golden Sky is waiting where they saw Nora last night, tail twitching and ears pricked.

“Is everyone ready?” he calls, “We have nothing on us. I don’t know why this is taking forever.”

“Sorry,” Juniper says, “We’re ready. Or, me and Nora are. Can’t say anything about the others.”

“I’m trying to find that mouse I ate last night,” Hawk says, “I got bored and carved something pretty on one of its bones, and I want to take it with me.”

“We’re about to meet the light-deer, and you’re worried about a bone?” Golden Sky snaps, “Can’t you just carve another when we’re not walking closer to our deaths?”

“We won’t die,” Nora says, but she doesn’t sound like she believes her own words.

Finally, after a good few minutes of everybody searching, they manage to find Hawk’s bone, and set off on the final stretch of the journey. As they walk, still following the river, despite the fact that it’s much narrower than when they started, Golden Sky rattles on about the light-deer and the center of the forest. His voice is a buzz in their ears, but they try their best to listen. They don’t know anything about what’s coming up.

“The light-deer have a pretty big camp, so if it’s too late when we get there, we can sleep until morning, and then get to the center. It’s not a long walk, but we need to be at our best if we want to stand even half a chance at getting out. Nobody’s faced the forest and survived.”

Nora, who’s talking quietly with Juniper, huffs and cuts him off. “That’s a lie,” she says, “Creatures have survived facing the forest.”

“Really?” Golden Sky asks, eyes wide with curiosity, “Huh. Who?”

“I mean,” Nora says, backtracking, “I don’t…I’m just saying it’s possible.”

“Okay…” Golden Sky says, narrowing his eyes, “I’d say you’re lying, but okay.”

“I’m not lying, I just don’t want to talk about it,” Nora says, and turns back to Juniper, who nuzzles her.

“Wait,” they say, and they can hear Áine starting to speak in their head, but they ignore her, “Did…did you face the forest-god?”  

“Sun,” Juniper says, and there’s something sharp in her tone, something protective about the way she presses closer to Nora. They take a step back, feel their tail twitch closer to the legs, and almost bump into Hawk, who hisses. They mumble an apology and walk a bit faster, still trying to keep their distance from Juniper. They aren’t sure what they did wrong, but they must’ve done something.

“Hey,” Nora says, softly, “It’s fine. I mean…we’re going to need all the information we have.”

“You sure?” Juniper asks, and Nora nods.

“I’m sure.” She stops and turns around to face everyone. Hawk hisses again, but Nora snorts and holds herself tall, her brown and black tail stiff behind her.

“What’s going on?” Hawk asks, “First Sun, now you? Do dogs not know how to walk in a group?”

“This is important,” Nora says, and then, “I faced the forest-god before.”

"And you’re just telling us now?” Golden Sky asks, but his voice isn’t harsh enough to be mad, “That’s amazing! And you lived, too! What’s it like? Do you have any tips? Were you alone, or did you go with a group?”

“It’s how my pack died,” Nora says, “I guess…I don’t want another pack of mine to die at the hands of the forest.” She sighs, and looks down at her paws, “That’s all. I can’t offer anything else.”

“What did it look like?” Golden Sky asks.

“I can’t remember,” Nora says, and spins back around to resume walking, “My memories go out-of-focus when I try to think about it.”

“Like when I say, ‘sun-god?’” they ask, and Nora stiffens.

“That’s…” she shakes herself, “That’s it. I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sun, but that’s the feeling. Do you…” Nora turns back to face them, “Have you faced the forest-god?”   

They have. They’ve stared Forest right in his face, as he was screaming and burning while the world ended around him. He was there when the gods decided that they weren’t needed anymore. He probably knew exactly what was going to happen to them.

“Yes,” they tell Nora, and they don’t speak again for the rest of the trip.

* * *

The light-deer are deer, in the loosest terms. They’re tall, and their antlers even taller, seeming to scrape the tips of trees. They’re the color of tree bark, some of them the darkest of browns, some ash gray, and some the pale white of birch. Their hooves are overgrown with mosses and lichens, which creep up their legs.

And their antlers. Their antlers are the color of the night sky, but woven around them are strings of light that hurt to look at. And the light isn’t just bright, but it changes, from white to a much softer blue. The light-deer that comes to greet them currently has its antlers that dim blue.

“Another pack come to face the forest?” it’s saying, and Golden Sky nods.

“We have a fire-creature with us,” he says, and the light-deer stops in its tracks.

“A fire-creature,” it says, and turns to scan the group. Its brown eyes stop on them, and they flinch back. The eyes of the light-deer seem to contain entire worlds in them, like the infinite number of stars in Moon’s night sky.

_Do you think it knows there’s two of us?_ Áine asks, and her voice quavers, _It wouldn’t kill one of us, right?_

‘I…’ they don’t know how to answer her. The light-deer is still watching them, and it’s like the entire world is holding its breath. They’re pretty sure they aren’t even breathing. They can feel the beating of their heart, Áine’s soul beside theirs, both of them green-fear, and the light-deer before them smiles.

“Hmm,” it says, “This’ll be interesting. You guys might just be making legends.”

“Legends?” Juniper asks, “You think we stand a chance?”

“With these god-things, certainly,” the light-deer says, “I’ve never seen one turn against their own.”

“I’m going to pretend I could understand whatever language you just used,” Hawk says, “Golden Sky, you said something about resting? Can we do that now? I don’t want to go fight the forest on about half a night of sleep.”   

“We have dens you seven can stay in,” the light-deer says, “Follow me.”

As the light-deer starts to lead them down a worn dirt path, Golden Sky whispers, “Can it count? There’s not seven of us, right? Me, you, Nora, Juniper, the Hawks…that’s six!”

“Guess not,” they manage, but their voice is shaking. The light-deer knows about Áine. It knows that they’re a god.

_It said ‘god-things,’_ Áine mutters,  _what does it mean by that? You think your sister came to help us?_

‘I bet it means Forest,’ they tell her, ‘You know, a god against another god. I don’t like how much it knows.’

_You think they’re gods?_ Áine asks.           

‘I don’t…I want to say I would’ve known them, but…I guess it’s possible they were ripped out of existence, like me. But I don’t think I would’ve forgotten them, right? I’m a god, stuff like that shouldn’t work on me. The gods would have to remember those they erased, in case they tried revenge.’

_Like you!_ Áine chirps, happily, and they feel their soul flare something they only felt around Moon.

‘Yeah,’ they say, trying to keep the emotion out of their voice. From the way Áine’s soul thrums beside theirs, they doubt it works, ‘Like me.’

Luckily, they make it to the dens without any more displays of emotion. The light-deer stops in front of the dens, which are the hollowed-out trunks of trees. There’s enough for everybody to get their own, so they chose the one closest and enter before anyone can say anything.

The first thing they notice is the pile of bones against the back wall. The second thing they notice is the very comfortable looking mossy nest.

“You’re confused about the bones?” they light-deer asks, and the spin around, teeth bared. The light-deer is watching them from the entrance, amused. “You can carve your story onto them. We light-deer keep a collection of all stories carved, so even if you die, the world won’t forget you.”

“How did you know about Áine?” they ask, and the light-deer sighs.

“We light-deer are here as a last line of defense,” it says, “We make sure nothing leaves the center that shouldn’t, and we offer what we can to creatures going to the heart. Because of that, we can see souls. The soul is the easiest way to judge someone, as it shows who they are at the very core, what makes them…well, them.”

“And you know I’m a god,” they say.

“It’s written all over your soul,” the light-deer says, with a snort of laughter, “You’re not the first fire-creature to pass by, but you are the first god. I wasn’t lying when I said you’d make legends. No matter what happens, the world is going to remember the time a god matched to the center of the forest in the body of a fire-creature.”

“In the body…” they repeat. “Is there any way the two of us are going to survive this?”

“I’m not a Seer,” the light-deer says, “I have no way of knowing that.”

_Can I ask something?_ Áine says.

‘Sure,’ they tell her, ‘I’ll repeat it to the light-deer.’

_Ask if it’s a god. I want to know what light-deer are._

“Áine wants to know if you’re a god,” they tell the light deer. It snorts.

“Gods aren’t the only things powerful,” it says, “but you could call me godly, if you want to get down to the very basics of the word.”

_Godly, but not a god,_ Áine muses,  _that’s unhelpful._

“What are you, then?” they ask.

“Belief is a form of power,” the light-deer says, instead of an answer, “Gods rely on belief to keep them alive, do they not? It’s like that for light-deer.”

“I don’t get it,” they say, “Doesn’t that make you gods?”

The light-deer snorts. “You don’t need to,” it says, and its antlers go back to a blinding white light. They yelp and clench their eyes shut until the bright shapes stop swarming it, and when they open them, the light-deer is gone.

_That happened,_ Áine says, and they let out a bark of laughter,  _Are you tired? I’m not. Let’s carve our stories onto bones._

“I’ve never done that before,” they tell her, but make their way over to the bone pile. None of the bones are huge, most about the size of their legs. “What’s a good one?”

_Probably something…like a femur, maybe? Shouldn’t be too hard. Bone carving is easy. Just start gnawing on the thing until you tell your story. There is a specific language for carving, but it’s okay if you don’t know it. It’s your story bone, and you’re the only one who has to understand it._

They nod, grabbing one of the smaller femurs, and bring it back to the nest. They settle down with the bone in their paws, staring at it. “Can I tell any story?” they ask, and Áine hums softly.

_Any you want,_ she says,  _you don’t even have to tell me, if you don’t want to._

“I do,” they say, and start gnawing on the bone. They aren’t sure what story they’re telling, but they let their feelings carry them away, carving lines and vague shapes. They have to pause every so often, to wipe off dust or change the position of their teeth, and they aren’t sure how long they stay like that, but when they finally finish, moonlight is trickling into the den.

“Áine?” they ask, and they can hear her yawn.

Y _eah? I just discovered I can sleep when you’re carving, so. Sorry if I sound tired._

“No, it’s fine,” they tell her, “I finished. Do you…?” They swallow back something heavy, but they can still feel a lump in their throat. They’re scared, and they don’t know why.

_I’d love to!_ Áine says, and they grin their relief, rolling the bone over so it’s back at the beginning.

“Okay,” they say, and start reading the story they carved.

When they started, they didn’t know what they were telling, but as they carved, they realized they were telling the story of their life, from times spent talking with Moon, to burning the forest, to their banishment, all up until they woke in Áine’s body. She’s a good audience, Áine, and as they talk, they start to forget why they were so scared to begin with. There’s a feeling of comfort in their soul, and the only way the moment could be better is if Áine was beside them, in her own body, both of them physical and real.

There’s one part they carved, about heart and fire, that makes them fumble over their words. Áine doesn’t say anything, but they can feel her confusion. They keep reading, but their mind is back at those words: ‘fire is reckless and soulless and all-devouring.’ Moon had told them that, to reassure them that there wasn’t any fire in their soul (and how wrong she’d been), and they hadn’t thought much of it at the time, because they thought it to be true.

But they had controlled fire before. They burned down the forest, and their fire was reckless and devouring, but there was something else there. They had been scared out of their mind, terrified, and the fire just kept burning.

_That was…_ Áine starts, and they’re jolted out of their thoughts. They hadn’t even realized they were done.  _Wow, Sun. That was beautiful._

“I—thanks. I was…I think I was scared you’d hate it.”

Áine laughs.  _I loved it,_ she says,  _Do you mind if I carve something?_

“But we’re sharing the body,” they say, “You can’t control it.

_You’re in control right now. Couldn’t you just take a step back?_

“I mean,” they can feel Áine's hope, can hear it in her words, and they. They don’t know what they want. What if they never get control back? What if they’re left to die in Áine’s body?   

_I’d give you control back after,_ Áine says,  _promise._

“Okay,” they say, and close their eyes before they can think any more about what they’re doing. They imagine their soul stepping back, pushing Áine up to the front, and when they can see again, it isn’t because they opened their eyes.

They can still feel their legs, and their tail, and they know they’re still in a body, but they have no control over it. They can faintly feel the moss under their belly, smell the sharp scent of bark, but it’s like they’re drowning and everything is a haze.

“Oh,” Áine says, and they can hear her, and she’s just as real as they once were, “I forgot how solid everything felt.”

‘Áine?’ they ask, and they know she’s grinning. They can’t see it, because it’s their body grinning, only it’s not. They know the body they’re in is grinning, and Áine’s in control of said body, and she’s grinning. It makes them want to grin, to laugh, but they don’t have a body, so their soul can only flare yellow and pink.

“This is amazing!” Áine says, and she bounds over to the pile of bones, “You take a nap while I carve, Sun. I’ll read my bone to you after.

‘Okay,’ they tell her. They don’t have eyes to close, which is weird. Being like this is the closest to what it was like as a god, but after controlling a body for so long, it feels wrong. They let their mind drift, like they used to when the sun set, and when Áine calls their name, they yawn like they were sleeping for real.

“It’s done!” she says, “C’mon, wake up! I just learned a whole lot about you, now you get to learn a whole lot about me!”

Áine’s bone is prettier than theirs. The lines that make up her carving are precise and planned, and they wrap around the bone she chose, something large and flat. They have no idea what it reads, but it looks beautiful.

‘How did you get so good?’ they ask, and Áine laughs.

“Not much to do when fire-season comes,” she says, “I’ve carved lots of bones.”

She wraps her paws around the bone and pulls it closer as she starts to read it.

Áine’s bone is about her, but it’s also about the grasslands as a whole. Fire is weaved into her story, how it burns every season, and how she has to start anew. How the grassland is in a constant state of change, and how that affected her own life. It finishes with the night before Áine and her pack invaded the Underground, and Áine noses the bone away once she’d done, waiting for their response.

‘It’s…’ They know what they want to say. That is was a masterpiece, that they loved it, that they want to visit the grasslands they accidentally created one day, meet fire-creatures and see how different the world is from what they thought. But they can’t figure out a way to say those words, and maybe they don’t need to?

‘I can’t say it,’ they tell Áine, ‘It’s…it made me feel better. About what I’m going to do. About burning down the forest. I really…it was really good. You’re really good.’

“Aww, thanks,” Áine says. She pushes the bone to rest beside their own, and sighs. “Okay. I’ll give you back control now.”

Áine’s soul steps back, and they take the spot it left. This time, they’re the one to open their eyes, to feel the moss tickling their belly. They stretch their paws out in front of them and yawn.

_Goodnight,_ Áine says,  _you ready to fight the forest tomorrow?_

“Not at all,” they tell her, and close their eyes.

* * *

Nora is the one to wake them, and when they crack open their eyes, they can see weak sunlight at the entrance of their den.

“We’re going,” Nora says, and her voice is tight, “You have your fire ready?”

They push themselves to their feet, and nod. Their fire is wrapped around every thread of their soul, and they can feel it burning.

“Good,” Nora says, and takes a deep breath, “This is it, I guess. Golden Sky and Hawk- _click_ caught a few mice, so you can go eat one of those.”

The follow Nora outside, and eat the mouse Golden Sky offers them in a few quick gulps. They’re still spitting out bones when the group begins to walk to the center.

The walk there is silent. Their heart is pounding in their chest, their soul is terrified and excited all at once, and Áine isn’t speaking, but a comforting presence beside them. They’re not sure they’d be here if it wasn’t for her.          

They’re going to face Forest, and for the first time, they’re doing it on opposite sides of the battlefield. Never again will they be accepted by the gods, if they do this.

But the gods cast them out a long time ago, so they growl under their breath and hold their head higher. They aren’t backing down. They won’t give Forest that satisfaction.

They walk forever yet are at the center in an instant. They stop beside Golden Sky, and stare at the thick brush before them.

“No backing down now,” Golden Sky says, “Beyond there is the forest-god.”

‘I won’t let you die,’ they tell Áine, ‘I’m sorry I stole your body. I’m sorry I’ve been so bad at all of this.’

_It wasn’t your fault,_ Áine says,  _You didn’t chose to be stuck with me. This is the fault of the gods. Let’s take our anger out on them._

“Ready to set some stuff on fire?” Golden Sky asks, and they nod, and lead the way into the heart.

The forest-god is bigger than they could’ve ever imagined. The tree that makes up his heart blocks the sky, and not even a sliver of sunlight can get though the leaves. The roots are a tangled mass atop the ground, glowing white with power. Forest-walkers made of leaves and branches surround the tree, the ground is leaf-rot and dried blood, and then there is a form in front of them.

It’s not the heart, they know. The heart is somewhere in the roots, protected from their view, but this thing before them is the forest-god. It looks like a rotting version of the light-deer. Its body is made of patches of ragged fur and holes full of leaves, with vines growing out of them. Its head hangs limp, like the bones of the neck aren’t enough to keep it up, and the whole thing smells of death and decay. There’s beetles squirming where its hooves should be, its tail is matted with mud and roots, and the antlers are tree bark covered in dying flowers.

Nora snarls from somewhere behind them, like she’s about to speak, but the forest-god lifts a hoof and she goes silent. They don’t dare to see if she’s okay.

“Forest-creatures,” Forest says, and his voice sounds like maggots in their flesh, “You dare challenge me?”

He’s speaking godly power. That power is everywhere in this clearing, and the rest of the group, no matter how angry, aren’t fire-creatures. They can do nothing but obey.

But he also hasn’t seemed to notice them yet.

“Forest,” they say, and he looks down at them with a sneer. But then he jumps back, and his eyes are pure power, but it’s not enough. They can feel their group behind them, free from the godly power, and they grin a wild grin.

“You,” he says, like he doesn’t know what to do, “We cast you out. We stripped you of everything. We ripped the fire out of your soul!”

The forest-walkers around them begin to close in.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Golden Sky says, “But Sun, you’re our fire-creature. You take on the god, we’ll get the forest-walkers, is that good?”

They nod, and their eyes are burning, and their soul is burning, and Áine is burning beside them. They can hear the snaps and growls of battle behind them, so they start walking towards the heart.

“You’re a god,” Forest says, and he’s standing in their way, but that’s what they expected.

“Yeah,” they tell him, “I am a god. But you decided to rip me out of the sky, so I’m just returning the favor.”

_Maybe start burning things now?_ Áine suggests, gleeful, so they narrow their eyes, think about setting Forest on fire, and let their fire burn.

Forest shrieks, and the rotting deer disappears in a flash of white. They hear Nora let out a triumphant howl, and Hawk- _click_ a loud caw as the fire spreads from their paws to the rest of the clearing. It only takes a second for the fire to reach the forest-walkers, and the already half-torn creatures are consumed.

“Fire-creatures are amazing!” Golden Sky cries, and he lands beside them, “Now what?”

_We burn the heart,_ Áine says, and they turn to look at the massive tree.

“We burn the heart,” they repeat, but then the tree comes alive.

The roots thrash where they are, sending cracks though the earth. Juniper stumbles beside them, and narrowly avoids falling into one. The fire still burns, but it’s not close enough to set the heart alight. They hear a voice in the cracks, something hollow and godly.

“So,” it says, and it sounds like Forest, but the voice is too empty to be him, “Sun decided to burn me down, like they did so many years ago.”

“Sun?” Golden Sky asks, “Wait. There’s…”

“That’s a god,” Nora says, “That’s a god! It was blurry but now it’s not! Sun was a god…”

“Was is the key word here,” Forest says with a thunderous crash of the roots, “They’re standing here, with you. I’d love to say they’re a traitor in your little group, but. I’m not sure that’s true. They’re a traitor, but I don’t think it’s to you.”

Juniper turns to stare at them. “You’re a god?” she asks.

“Um,” they say, “Yes? Kind of? I’m a once-god. The others ripped me from their narrative. That’s why you didn’t remember there was a sun-god.”

“So…you’re good?” Juniper asks.

“I’m the one who made the grasslands,” they say, “I. Don’t know if I’m good. But I’m not siding with the gods. They rejected me.”

“A godly fire-creature,” Juniper says, “Huh.”

They offer her a smile, and then leap for the heart. Forest screams something, but they ignore it. They set their paws alight, and land just before the tree, burning.

Every vein in their body is fire, so they take that power and channel it all into the air around them. They set their burning paws on the thrashing roots, and breathe deeply as they concentrate. There’s more fire in them than they know what to do with, so they send everything into the roots, until they start to crumble underneath them.

And then they see the heart.

It’s a soul, Forest’s soul, and it’s nothing like their own. It’s fear and rage and anger and hatred, and they can hear him screaming at them, but they don’t care. Forest is nothing to them.  

“You can’t kill a god,” the soul says. It sounds sick, like each word takes every scrap of godly power it can find. Forest is before them, their soul the shape of a flickering rabbit, weak and tiny in their paws. If they kill Forest, then they’ll be able to escape. They’ll be free. The entire forest will be free.

They set the soul on fire, and the forest falls apart.

Nora is the first one to speak, stepping over the smoldering roots to stand by their side. “You killed it?” she asks.

Their paws are empty. The fires still burn. They can see the grasslands beyond the empty form of the giant tree. “I think I did,” they say, and grin.

Celebrations only last a few minutes before another god decides to make things difficult.

“Moon,” they say. Their sister has taken the form of a dog, similar in build to Nora, but with floppy ears. Her coat is a deep brown, with yellow-white down her back and tail, and a few splotches of the color on her ears and paws. She has a purple swirl on her shoulder, a feature that marks her as a goddess, makes her stand out.

“That’s another god,” Golden Sky says, and nearby, Hawk arches her back and her fur stands on end.

“That’s my sister,” they explain, “She’s…I don’t know.”

“I’m not here to stop you,” she tells the rest of the group, “You beat Forest, not fairly, but you did, and I’m not about to break the rules. Go to the grasslands while you still can.” She watches them for a minute, until Hawk takes the first steps towards the edge of the forest, before turning to face the group, waiting.

“Sun…?” Golden Sky asks, “Do you?”

“I’m not like you,” they tell him, “You guys deserve to be free.”

“Thanks,” he says, “For helping us. You didn’t have to do that.”

They don’t know how to reply. Golden Sky backs away, and joins the rest of the group as they leave the forest. The second they’re all in the grasslands, it disappears, and the broken, burnt forest starts to regrow.

_Are we…we killed it, right?_ Áine asks, and they can do nothing but whine helplessly. Forest shouldn’t be coming back.

“I’m not having this conversation while you’re stuck in the body of some mortal,” Moon says, “Make your own.”

“You took away my powers,” they spit, “What, you want me to try and leech of Forest?”

“You beat him,” Moon says. So. She does want them to steal power from another god. That’s something they haven’t done.

‘Áine,’ they tell her, ‘I think you’ll be fine. I won’t let Moon kill you.’

_It’ll be nice to have my body back,_ she tells them, softly,  _I trust you. Two fire-creatures versus a goddess sounds fair, right?_

‘I hope so,’ they say, and close their eyes. They let their soul drift out of Áine’s body, waiting a second to make sure she takes back control, before collecting all the power they can find to make themselves a physical form. They won’t be able to make another one, after this.               

When they open their eyes, they can’t feel Áine’s soul beside them, but they still feel solid. They look around, and they see her, and she sees them, and she grins.

“Well,” Áine says, “You don’t look like any dog I’ve ever met.”

They look at their new body, as best they can. They’re mostly a blinding white, unlike Áine’s white, which has been stained beige by dirt and mud. Their front paws are pale orange, and when they twist around to look at their back, it’s taken up by a deep orange patch in a leaf-like shape, along with the same deep orange spirals on their tail, much larger than Moon’s.

“I’m still somewhat god,” they tell Áine, “We can’t just…look exactly like a mortal. We’ll always have something that marks us different.”

“Hmm,” Áine says, “I like it! I can see where your sun-god-ness played a part. You’re very orange.”

“If you two are done,” Moon snaps, and they spin around to face her. Áine steps up beside them, warm and solid, and she gives them a small smile. “Thank you. Now, Sun, I’m here to lead you back to the sky. The gods have decided to let you back into their tapestry.”

They take a step closer to Áine. “But you cast me out,” they say, “You made everyone forget there was ever a sun-god.”

“The king decided you’d be more use with us than against us,” Moon says, “You already attacked Forest. We can’t let you roam the world untethered.”

“I killed Forest,” they say. Moon shakes her head.

“You may not be a god, but you still have more power than you know what to do with. You’re the sun, and what does the sun do?”

“Bring light?” they try. Moon sighs.

"Yes, but we also cycle. The sun and the moon, circling each other for eternity, sending souls back to the ground so they can cycle, too. It’s a repeating cycle, Sun, and you’ve broken it, but that power is still inside you. Or, was still inside you. Do you know what power you channeled to beat Forest?”

“Fire,” they tell Moon. She nods.

“Fire, and something else. The last bits of your godly power. A god can only be killed by another god, and, to be fair, you did kill Forest.” Moon turns and gestures with her tail to the forest around them, trees sprouting and roots digging themselves back into the earth. “You put all of your godly power into him. All of it.”

The giant tree, the one who’s roots they burnt, rights itself. Forest-walkers regrow from slick leaf-rot. The glimmers of a soul start to appear in the center of the tree.

“You created a new cycle, Sun. A cycle of fire and forest.” Moon sighs and turns back to face them. “Cycles can never be broken, but you tried to break one. You tried to leave the gods and break the endless cycle of the sun and the moon. Don’t you see what you’ve done? You’ve created a cycle that will ensure Forest never dies, because while the forest will always regrow, now the process will be sped up.”

They look over at Áine, who’s watching Forest reform with wide eyes. They look back at Moon, who’s waiting for them to return to the sky with her.

“I’m tired of cycles,” they say, “I’m tired of repeating.”

Moon looks at them, puzzled. Her head is titled, and one of her ears is pricked slightly upwards. “But we’re gods,” she says, and they press a bit closer to Áine, to feel her warmth, “That’s the point of us. To repeat, to cycle, to stay unchanging. We play the same roles every time, saying the same words and doing the same actions, now until the end of time. We make sure the world doesn’t stray from our plans, and we cycle.”

Forest’s soul is almost reformed, so they bare their teeth and feel Áine tense beside them, ready to launch herself into a fight if needed. The roots are moving, slowly, and the forest-walkers are watching them with empty eyes, ready to attack at the word of the forest.

“Sun, please,” Moon says, “You’re still a god! You may think you’re a monster, but I swear I can carve it out of you this time! You can be perfect again! You can be normal again! Isn’t that what you want? Don’t you want the world to go back to how it’s always been? Back to lush, endless forest and you in the sky, bringing the sun?”

“That’s not how it happened,” they say, and Moon blinks.

“What?” she asks.

"The world wasn’t always forest,” they say, and just like that, the final piece of a puzzle they didn’t know they’d been building clicks into place, and they remember.

* * *

_The world is endless forest, perfect and beautiful and NO._

_THAT’S NOT HOW THE STORY GOES._

_The world was once golden grass and dark earth, black mountains and soot-stained rocks. The creatures of the world, all fire-creatures at heart, they didn’t live in perfect peace, but times were good enough. There were no gods, because a land of change doesn’t need something that calls itself all-powerful to make the rules._

_The grasslands burned every fire-season. Fires would come and return the world to it’s most basic form. The fire-creatures would wait out these fires in the river, talking and swapping stories, making friends with creatures unlike themselves. Fire-season wasn’t feared, but welcomed. Fire-season meant change, it meant growth, it meant knowing that a world can’t stay the same forever. It meant making the world better every time it was destroyed._

_But then came the gods, or, those who called themselves gods. They watched the world from above and decided that this world wasn’t their idea of perfect. “This isn’t good,” they said, “We want something endless, and unchanging. We want something bigger.”_

_The gods sent earthquakes to destroy the world and the fire-creatures who lived there, and made their own world, of tall trees, with roots that wrapped around the world. They made creatures out of clay and mud, made souls out of twig and bramble to inhabit them, and watched the world they made._

_But then they noticed that the souls of the fire-creatures were still there, burning brighter than ever before, and that wouldn’t do. Fire threatened their perfect world, as it would burn their forests and destroy everything they had made._

_So, they crushed the souls of fire in their hands, and thought that was it. And they were right, for a very, very long time._

_Until a god that calls themselves Sun realized that it had a soul that burned brighter than the sun. Until the grasslands came back, and the fire-creatures came back, and these creatures refused to give in to the gods. They denied the gods as powerful, and in doing so, the gods had no power over them._

_And that’s when the gods started to worry._

* * *

“The gods destroyed the world,” they say, “The world had made itself out of fire and heart, and the gods destroyed that.”

“Sun,” Moon says, but they turn away from her.

“C’mon, Áine,” they say, “Let’s kill Forest again, and join everybody else in the grasslands.

"Hell yeah!” Áine says with a laugh, “I didn’t get to do anything the first time around!”

“You’re a god!” Moon says, and she’s right in front of them. She didn’t move, but appeared, and they take a step back. “You can’t live among mortals, because gods always return to their own kind.”

They look their sister directly in the eyes. “I think,” they say, and the words are fire in their mouth, “I stopped being a god a long time ago.”

They push pass Moon, and stare the newly reborn Forest down, Áine at their side. Her paws are already on fire, and her grin is wild and full of heart.

“Sun,” Moon whispers, “Is this what you want?”

They don’t look at her. “I’m not going back with you,” they say, “Áine, let’s do this.”

Áine grins, and just for a second, they can feel the fire burning in her soul. “Let’s do this,” she repeats, and the two of them set the world alight.

They don’t know when Moon leaves, but they don’t really care. Their entire form is wreathed in flame as they run for the heart. The roots of the world thrash around them, but they’re Sun, and they aren’t letting Forest get them.

The roots are thicker, this time, and they don’t burn when they press their paws to them. They’re about to try again when one of the roots catches them in the belly, and sends them flying across to the other side of the clearing. They crash against a tree, feel some of the bones inside their new body break, and then there’s a forest-walker on them.

This one is more rot than leaf, and every time they burn it, the leaves grow back, coated in even more rot, until they can’t even set the thing on fire. They let out a snarl and roll to their paws, ignore the way their weight starts to buckle, and try to throw themselves at the forest-walker, but because of their broken paw, only stumble into it.

The forest-walker laughs, cold and cruel, and shakes them off. They’re on their back, now, staring up into its dead eyes, and they aren’t dying. Not now. They howl in rage and send fire flying around them, catching a few nearby trees. The air is thick with smoke, and the ground slick with either blood or rot (they don’t want to know) and they can’t see Áine anywhere, and their paw is still broken, and whenever they try to breath it sends stabbing pains up their chest.

“Áine,” they hack, and they can feel their fires spluttering out around them. The forest-walker drips rot from it’s jaws, and they snarl weakly at it.

And then Áine appears.

She’s bloodied and battered, one of her ears torn beyond recognition, and her paws are covered with rot, but she’s tearing her way though the forest-walker, her mouth on fire. She’s beautiful and limping, so they push themselves to their paws, and their fires burn a little stronger.

"I think the forest-god wants revenge,” Áine says, panting. She spits rot out of her mouth, and they lean against her while their paw continues to scream in pain.

“Yeah,” they say. Their soul is happy and light despite the hell around them, and they can’t help but laugh. Áine looks at them, confused but something gentle in her eyes, and the fire surrounding them burns brighter.

“You good?” Áine asks, and they let out a sigh, stumbling to their own paws.

“You make me really happy,” they tell her, and send fire flying in the direction of a birdlike forest-walker. Áine smiles, crushes a forest-walker beneath her paws, and turns to grin at them.

“Right back at you,” she says. “Didn’t think I’d end up liking a god that ended up trapped in my body, but,” she laughs, “that’s life, I guess.”

“Once-god,” they correct, as their heart beats frantically in their chest, and not just because they’re scared, “I like you too. I think. But not how I like Moon.”

“That’s good,” Áine says, and presses her muzzle to theirs, “C’mon. Let’s go home.”

They turn to face the heart together. Forest hasn’t made himself a form, not this time, but they can see his soul in the trunk of the tree. They light themselves aflame, see Áine do the same beside them, and then they’re running for the heart.

Their paw still hurts when they put pressure on it. It does more than hurt, it’s like it’s being bitten into by a creature with teeth sharper than thorns, but they do their best to ignore the pain. They dodge roots, crash into forest-walkers so they burn, and then they’re at the tree.

The soul is too high up for them to grab, so they crouch down and leap up, grabbing a thick vine in their jaws as their paws scramble beneath them. Áine keeps an eye on them until they manage to burn footholds, and then she turns to the area around them, surrounding the base of the tree in flames and attacking all the forest-walkers that come near. With that covered, they focus on climbing.

It’s a slow process. They have no idea how to climb a tree, and their claws are useless for digging into the bark, so all they can do is burn until they’re steady, and keep going. But eventually they make it to the soul, tired and battered, and they grab it in their jaws and bite.

This time, the soul doesn’t speak to them. It just shatters in their mouth, and they’re thrown back by the force, landing on the ground with a thud. Their vision is blurry, but they can see Áine’s russet face as she grabs them by the scruff and starts dragging them out. They twist around in her grip until they can see, and it’s the grasslands.

“We’re almost there,” Áine says into their fur, “Can you walk?”

“Yeah,” they say, and grit their teeth as they roll to their paws. It’s painful, but the grasslands are right before them.

“Let’s go,” Áine says, “It’s already reforming.”

As they leave, they only look back once. The forest regrows behind them, just like it did the first time. They think about what Moon said, about cycles and godly powers, and turn to face the grasslands.

They’re out of the forest. They saved Áine. They played their part.

Everything else is out of their control.

* * *

The grass is soft under their paws and sweet on their nose. In front of them, Áine howls her joy and rolls in the grass, grinning up at the brilliant blue sky.

“We did it!” she calls, “We did it, Sun! Celebrate with me!”

They laugh and bound over to Áine, who looks up at them with grass already staining her pelt. “This is my home!” she says, “I can’t wait to show you everything; we can find my pack and tell them I’m fine, and I’m sure they’ll love you!”

“I’m…you want me to stick with you?” they ask, and Áine nods.

“Duh,” she says, “we had a whole moment in the forest there, where we both confessed that we liked each other? I thought that meant you were open to pursuing a relationship. Unless I misread that entirely, in which case, I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s…you’re not lying?”

“Why would I lie about that?” Áine asks, and she rolls over to her belly. They sigh and flop down beside her.

“Dunno. I haven’t done anything like this before. Gods don’t really fall in love.” Áine nuzzles her and presses closer, and okay. This is nice.

“Neither have I,” she says, “It’s new for the both of us, but that’s the nature of the world. Well, our world. Maybe not the world the gods want, but here, in the grasslands…change is new. But it’s not something you should be scared of.”

They think about that for a while, cuddled up with Áine as they watch clouds drift across the sky and grass blow in the wind. The sun is warm on their back, and Áine is warm at their side, and they like this. They like this a lot.

“Oh, I wanted to give you something,” Áine says, sitting up. She tugs one of the bracelets off her leg, and then shakes the necklace off.

“That’s yours,” they say as Áine pushes the golden jewelry over to them, “I can’t just take it.”

“It’s a gift,” Áine says, “Like I said a few days ago, they remind me of you. I want you to have them.”

The jewelry gleams gold in the sun, and it really is beautiful. They look up at Áine, and her tail is wagging and her eyes are wide and hopeful.

“Okay,” they say, and Áine lets out a little yip and licks their cheek.

“Awesome!” she says, and they sit up, bowing their head so Áine can slip the necklace on. It’s a comfortable weight around their neck, and they shake themselves to resettle their fur. The bracelet they put on themselves, onto their right paw, where it’s cool against their fur.

Áine clicks their bracelets together, and smiles. “We should try to find everyone else,” she says, “The rest of our group, and my pack.”

“Do we have any idea where they are?” they ask, and Áine shakes her head.

“I know where my pack’s camp is, but not where it is in relation to here,” she says, “But who cares? We’re free. The gods can’t bother us ever again.”

They laugh and nudge her in the side. “They really can’t, huh?” they ask.

“Not at all,” Áine says, and for the first time in their life, they’re truly free.

**Author's Note:**

> this was an entry for a contest on this pet collecting website i go on called chicken smoothie but it quickly spiraled way, way out of control and now i have this. not that i'm complaining. i love writing about my ocs. this is literally me taking a creation myth i made up and going 'hey let's write what actually happened.' 
> 
> title taken from the song sunn by radical face, because it's a super good song and it kinda fits? 
> 
> anyway that's all i've got to say. bye!


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